his empire of dirt
by streetlightskeletons
Summary: Dick has been missing for a month when Jason finds himself with a young protégé of his own. These two events should be completely unrelated, but they aren't.
1. Chapter 1

"Let the kid go," Jason snarled beneath his red helmet, eyes narrowed down the barrel of his gun that was aimed unwaveringly at the thugs in front of him. " _Now_."

"No," the older thug countered, arrogant and twitching with adrenaline, or cocaine, perhaps, " _You_ let _us_ go, or you're gonna be scrapin' this kid's brain off the concrete."

The kid shivered in the thug's tight grip. God, did Jason hate hostage situations.

His lips curled and he shifted where he stood, wondering how he was going to play this out. The thugs were amateurs - that much he could tell from the wad of cash laying idly by his feet from where they had dropped it in desperation to escape him.

Jason remembered stalking down the dark alley and smirking to himself beneath his helmet as he had watched them scrabble for a way out, rattling the chain fence which blocked the exit and yanking at locked doors along the walls. It's not that he would have done anything truly horrific to them. They were petty criminals - hardly Jason's usual targets.

But Jason had watched them from the rooftops as they had held a gun to an elderly woman's head, and laughed at the rapidly spreading stain on her dress and the piss running down her shaking legs. He had watched them run away, hollering in success.

He had memorised their features and characteristics, knowing that they would crave the same adrenaline high the next night. He had wanted nothing more than to catch up with them at that moment, but once he had calmed the elderly woman and helped clean herself up, the sun had been peaking over the horizon. At the time, Jason had almost felt that the night was a waste, but the elderly woman – Betty Jean – had given him her number in gratitude.

 _("Ma'am, you really don't have to-" "Don't be stupid, boy. Take it and say no more. You ever need anyone to talk to, you call me, you hear?" "But-" "I said - do you hear?" "…. Yes, ma'am"_ ).

He had picked up their trail the next night, determined to avenge Betty Jean, which had led to the current situation in the dead-end alley. Realising their disadvantage, the criminals had panicked. Jason could see the younger thug shaking in his black, steel-toed boots, his eyes, set deep in his face, wandering frantically. The older man had seemed more collected under pressure, but Jason had noticed his nervous twitch and how he rubbed the seam of his threadbare jeans between his fingers.

Loathe to admit it, Jason had gotten cocky. Irritatingly, he knew that Bruce would have hung him up to dry for it, as well. He hadn't cased the scene before he had rushed in, and he hadn't noticed the small figure curled in between the dented metal bins and rusted pipe, not until it was too late. The boy had been closer to the thugs than he had been to Jason, and they had noticed their company before he did.

The kid, to his credit, had tried to make himself as small as possible, unnoticeable, but it had been in vain. The thugs had snatched him up unceremoniously, ignoring his pained yelp, and Jason had growled, unable to do anything, as they had dragged the boy to stand in front of them, shielding them. The whimper the kid made when they had raised the gun to his head echoed in Jason's head. Unbeknownst to the thugs, that action had condemned them in Jason's eyes – elderly people and kids were off limits, and these criminals had broken both rules, so they were fair game.

The boy was small and bony, but instead of hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes, his face was filled out, and round with childish youth. He was flushed pink, and Jason could see the light sheen of sweat painting his forehead, the result of a combination of anxiety and fear. He could see the faint shivers running through the boy's pitiful frame and Jason couldn't blame him – he was dressed in a tatty grey shirt and threadbare sweats on the bitingly cold night. Jason knew a street urchin when he saw one. It took one to know one.

"I'm gonna ask once more, then I swear you're going down," Jason said quietly, " _Let him go_."

"Or what?" the older thug taunted, "You're not gonna shoot me, are ya?"

"You wanna bet?" Jason growled under his breath. He mustn't have been as quiet as he had aimed to be, because the thugs moved back another step, putting more distance between them.

In response, the kid squirmed in the arms of his captor. The man holding him tightened his grip around the boy, his forearm digging painfully into the kid's neck, restricting his oxygen. The boy gasped and gargled, straining higher on his tiptoes in an attempt to release the pressure on his windpipe.

Jason had seen enough. Taking a calculated risk, he shot one of the criminals in the stomach, quickly pivoting to the man holding the boy and taking a shot at his foot. The man released the kid with a strangled cry, shoving him forward and away, towards Jason.

The vigilante roughly grabbed the boy by the shoulder and pushed him behind him, keeping a firm grip of the boy as he tried to slip from his grasp. He quickly pistol-whipped the men on the ground, dragging one of the men over and dumping him over the torso of the other man to keep pressure on his stomach wound.

He was about to call the authorities and report them, when the boy in his grasp gave as almighty kick to the back of his calf. It didn't hurt, and Jason didn't fight crime every night for the appreciation, but a little respect would go a long way, so he turned to the boy and snapped, " _Stop that_."

The boy's shirt he held threatened to tear, and Jason knew what it was like to lose the only shirt you owned, so he moved and grasped the boy's upper arms tightly. In response, the kid writhed angrily, trying to free himself, but Jason had made his grip unshakably firm. Jason frowned behind the mask and ordered, "Calm down."

But the kid didn't hear him, or didn't want to, because he thrashed harder, and Jason could hear a faint, pitiful whine rising from deep in the boy's throat as he clawed at the vigilante's padded glove to no avail.

Grunting in frustration, Jason easily secured both the boy's wrists in one hand. With the other, he reached up and unsnapped the clasps on his helmet, briskly tugging it off and throwing it to the side with a clang. He flipped up the white lenses on his mask and gripped the boy's chin, maintaining eye contact. The boy stilled.

"Calm down," he repeated, his voice firm, but not unkind, "I'm not going to hurt you, kid."

He held the boy's gaze, trying to project honesty and sincerity through his eyes and posture alone. He wasn't sure if he quite managed it, but the kid unclenched his tight, coiled muscles and loosened his stiff posture nonetheless, nodding hesitantly after a moment.

Jason eased his grip on the boy's wrists but didn't release him. "You gonna run if I let go? You saw what I did to those guys over there."

It wasn't quite a threat, more of a warning, a precaution, but the boy shook his head violently as if it were, eyes wide and breaths coming short and quick. The boy was still obviously scared out of his wits, but he agreed to not run, and Jason took things as they came, so he unhanded the kid, stepping back.

True to his word, the boy stood, instead of bolting away. Jason could see the fine tremors in the boy's legs that perhaps explained that – he wasn't sure the kid would have gotten far without tripping or falling. The kid kept his eyes trained on the vigilante's face, as if scared to look away, and Jason smirked, hearing as the boy's breath hitched at the sight of it.

He didn't particularly like terrorizing the boy; it made him feel dirty, and made his chest feel uncomfortably tight, as if something had shifted inside his torso to push against his lungs. But he found himself respecting the kid's courage in the face of potential danger, and the look of wavering false confidence in the boy's eyes reminded him of what he saw in the mirror every time he looked.

"Follow me," he ordered, unthinkingly. He paused for a second, waiting for regret and disbelief to flood through him, but it never did, astonishingly, and at that moment, Jason couldn't have brought himself to care – the sun was rising and he was tired.

Jason retrieved his helmet and pushed passed the boy, walking down to the entrance of the alleyway, keeping his eyes forward and not looking back. Without saying a word, the boy followed.

* * *

"You got a name, kid?" Jason asked, shoving his hands in his pockets, out of the frigid, night air. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he found himself wondering – and, perhaps, vaguely concerned – about how cold the kid was. He kept walking.

After leaving the alley, the kid had caught up, and since then had been walking silently by his side, shoulders hunched in over himself, feet moving fast to keep up with Jason's longer strides. Jason had called in the location of the unconscious thugs and decided, with his mattress in mind, to head to his latest safe-house – his home, for the coming weeks. By that point, the boy still hadn't said a word, so Jason hadn't bothered to ignite a conversation and had kept walking.

Halfway through their travels, they had moved to the rooftops. The city was awakening, its citizens rising; Jason hadn't wanted any questions or enquiries into the boy's state of dress nor his own, regarding the mask and helmet that swung idly by his side. The kid seemed more centred and relaxed than he had ever been. Perhaps it was because he was physically and emotionally exhausted, but Jason didn't know.

He had easily climbed up a fire escape to the roof, and he had reluctantly found himself quietly impressed by the small boy as he silently clambered up behind him without a protest, nimble and agile. He had left the boy to his own accord as he had marched across the rooftops, but there had been times when Jason didn't trust the boy's abilities, or the gaps between the buildings were too wide, and the vigilante was forced to throw him bodily to the other side or merely carry him over.

The first time, the boy had tensed as fast as lightning at Jason's touch, but had eased up after a moment of Jason not moving. For some reason, it rubbed the vigilante up wrong to just pick the boy up without his consent or acknowledgment, so he had waited for the slow nod before he had heaved the kid up into his arms.

It wasn't much of a hardship - the boy was light, small and skinny. To Jason, it often felt like he was carrying a bag of bones, as the boy's paper-thin skin allowed his ribs to stick out and dig into his forearm, and feeling the evidence of the boy's obvious malnourishment made him feel uncomfortable and irrationally angry.

They were nearing his latest safe-house – an old, abandoned train passenger car near the railway track, partially hidden by the long, reed grass and perfect for laying-low – when Jason had spoken. It was deafeningly silent while he waited for an answer.

"Richie," the boy said, quiet and soft. Jason could hardly hear him over the rumbling of the city, but he did. He hummed, noncommitting.

"I'm Jason," he offered. He had considered giving a fake name, or even an abbreviation, but the boy was already going to be staying in his safe-house for the unforeseeable future, and didn't see the point. He probably wouldn't have remembered anyway, and outed himself to the kid sometime soon.

"Where's your parents?" he asked idly. He didn't really care if he got an answer or not to that particular question, but the silence between them was uncomfortable, and he wanted something to distract him from the cold.

"Dead," the kid said quietly after a moment. His steps didn't falter.

Jason paused, then snorted in dark amusement. "Same," he offered drily.

They didn't speak for the rest of the journey.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Jax is Jason's homeless alter-ego**

* * *

Jason should have known it would happen. The boy was small, and feeble, and it had been bitterly cold the night of the confrontation with the two thugs. While Jason had age and strength, along with insulating layers, to keep him on the warmer end of the cold scale, the boy hadn't been so lucky.

The next morning, nearly mid-day, Jason stared at the boy. Richie was resting on Jason's mattress, the one that he had begrudgingly surrendered the night before after patrol. The kid's face was pinched and sallow, a thin sheen of sweat plastered over his forehead as he shifted restlessly in his sleep.

Jason sighed, roughly rubbing his forehead in indecision. He had never taken care of a child before, much less been in their presence for longer than a few hours – he had no clue how to cure a sick kid, and he had no particular inclination in wanting to. But, for a reason beyond his understanding, he had felt an underlying, but strong, connection with this particular homeless kid, and had subsequently taken him in. Richie, unbeknownst to him, was now under Jason's protection, whether it be from muggers, CPS or the sickness bug, apparently.

He didn't quite know why or how the kid had struck a chord with him so quickly and efficiently, but he had. Perhaps it was because he could relate to the kid, growing up on the streets himself, living it rough, but the connection seemed deeper than that. There had been many times when Jason had passed other homeless kids without sparing a glance – maybe a few dollars, or a bread roll – but he had never felt the urge to particularly help them in any other way. On the streets, it was dog eat dog, kill or be killed – you couldn't share your latest meal with the young kid on the corner, because it could be your last for some time - you had to savour it.

But Richie had wormed himself under Jason's skin and, as crazy as it sounded, he felt like he _knew_ the kid. Not in a personal relationship kind of way, but he knew his mind, what the boy was thinking, his reasoning and his actions. Jason had longed to find a kindred spirit, and he had, in the body of a street urchin - go figure.

Perhaps it explained the feeling in his chest, the dark, heavy ball filling his chest cavity, as he watched the boy's laboured breath. He felt uneasy, slightly agitated, and if Jason didn't already know better, he would have labelled the feeling as concern, or worry.

He huffed, standing up from his crouch beside the boy's head. He had pulled on his shoes and was out of the train car before he could dwell on it any longer.

* * *

The boy was gone when Jason returned. He was a few bottles of water, energy bars and medication heavier, but quite a few dollars lighter. He had been forced to use his spare cash, the amount he kept for rainy days, and had resigned himself to just scraping by for the next week.

"Kid?" Jason called out, gruff in frustration. He threw his recently bought items on the empty mattress that lay unmoving on the floor. "Richie?"

He felt something flutter inside his chest as silence answered his call, but he passed it off as irritation, even as his skin cooled rapidly, the hairs on his arms to raise defensively. He felt slightly light-headed, and he wondered if he was getting sick himself

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to outside. It sounded like any other scuffle that occasionally occurred between the local homeless, but one voice sounded too high pitched and weak, and Jason was moving before he had given it conscious thought. He left his safe-house and rounded the pile of the concrete bridge.

The sight that greeted him was one that made him feel enraged, blistering, but he forced himself to stay where he was. He kept his hands where they were, emitting tranquillity, but they were clenched into fists in his pockets, trembling. He slowly inched forward, confidence making his steps land silently but firmly. Keeping his head down, Jason joined the small crowd surrounding the scene.

Weak and feverish, Richie struggled half-heartedly at the grip around his wrist, twisting and trashing in an attempt to get away. The man that had seized him had no trouble keeping hold of the small boy by one hand, and that fact seemed to make Richie even more desperate. Jason recognised the man as Sean, one of those in the homeless system, higher up in the hierarchy. Not as high as Jason, but he generally liked the guy - he was a nice enough person, if a bit entitled.

"What were you doing in Jax's place, kid?" Sean demanded of the boy, shaking him roughly.

"I don't know who that is!" Richie pleaded, almost whining, and Jason could see the febrile glint in his eye from the back of the gathered crowd. "I swear, I don't!"

"Don't you _lie_ to me, boy," Sean growled. Richie cried out as the older and stronger man jerked him, wrenching his shoulder sharply.

Having seen enough, Jason sauntered forward, hands in his pockets, casual, but his eyes unnervingly piercing. "We have a problem here?"

At his voice, there was a noticeable shift in their audience and in Sean himself. This particular clan of homeless had been here long before he had, but Jason had built up his reputation on the street and when he had arrived, it had been easy to switch the communities' wariness of him into respect. He had quickly become their sort-of leader, their authority, and they were inclined to trust him and vice versa, as long as they didn't step out of line. He never abused his power, never really asked them to do anything, which is why he had to play this out easy and peacefully – he couldn't afford for them to stage a mutiny at his sudden change of attitude.

"Ah, look, kid. It's Jax himself," Sean said, overly enthusiastic, gesturing to Jason as he glared pointedly at Richie.

"Jay!" Richie cried out, relief evident in his voice as he fell still in Sean's grip. His eyes lit up at the sight of the vigilante. Catching sight of it, Jason was blindsided by a wave of complete and utter possessiveness. He blinked, and it dissipated, but it continued to bubble beneath his skin as if it were an electric current.

"Hey, Rich," he said quietly after a moment, smiling softly in reassurance as his eyes roamed over the boy for signs of harm, "You okay, kid?"

At the boy's tiny nod, he turned to the older man, eying him up and portraying his disapproval through his stare alone. It seemed to work, because the man's brows furrowed in confusion. "You wanna explain what's going on here, Sean?"

"The little _rat_ was in your trailer, Jax," he explained, "I was just doing some exterminating, is all."

A titter of rumbling laughter scattered through the surrounding throng, but Jason didn't see what was so funny. He frowned, more annoyed than anything, feeling a sense of déjù vu. "Let the boy go, Sean."

"Why?" Sean asked. Jason could see the obvious, plain confusion in his face, and the older man felt emboldened in the face of their crowd to object. "Why not punish him for it?"

Before Jason could blink, Sean dropped Richie into the dirt at his feet and swung his leg back, his boot aimed towards the defenceless boy's abdomen.

Jason didn't remember moving, or the time between hearing Richie's pained yelp and having his hand around Sean's throat, protectively placing himself between the sick, moaning boy and his offender. "You _dare_ to _touch_ what's mine."

He snarled, a truly animalistic thing, and snapped his fist into Sean's face. He stepped back impassively as the man fell to the floor with a cry, cradling his gushing nose. A dangerous silence settled amongst the crowd, and no one moved to help the fallen man.

Jason turned, crouched and picked up Richie, bridal-style, and the boy curled into his body, seeking warmth and comfort. He murmured to the boy indistinctly, hushing him as he stood. He faced the crowd, who didn't meet his eyes. "The next person to hurt this boy will go down, permanently."

He headed back to his trailer. No one challenged him.

* * *

There was something about the threat of violence that made word spread quickly, and Jason heard the same phrase echo down the criminal grapevine – _Jax's kid was off-limits_. They were left to their own devices after the confrontation with Sean, something which Jason couldn't help but feel thankful for.

Richie got better, and the bruising on his stomach faded from purple to green to yellow, until the skin was unblemished, showing no sign of the abuse. They fell into a routine, and Jason thought he would have had trouble in sharing his life with another person, but Richie easily slipped into the cracks and fissures in his life that he didn't realise were there.

Of course, it wasn't that simple, and times were tough. There were nights that Jason had to fall asleep with the pang of hunger echoing in his stomach, just so that Richie would have a meal every day. It paid off, and Jason watched with pride as slowly but surely, the boy filled out, his ribs no longer ledges jutting out from his body. The boy became stronger, he didn't sleep as much, and he suddenly had an endless amount of energy that Jason found himself unable to keep up with.

The boy was insatiable, often pissing off the older man so much that they would argue, sharp tongues loaded with biting words. But they always would move on, water under the bridge, and the boy would whisper apologizes at night, so dark that Jason couldn't see the tip of his own nose. He would gather the boy up in his arms, hushing him as he warded off the chill from their shared mattress. But, in the morning, it had never happened.

It had been weeks since he had found the boy. They had settled into a strange sort of relationship; almost brotherly, almost paternal. He shared everything with the younger boy; his food, his water, shelter – but never his past, nor his nightlife. Surprisingly, the boy seemed reluctant to share his past as well, which made Jason slightly suspicious, but he couldn't bring himself to be a hypocrite, so he never forced the issue.

"Why won't you take me with you?" Richie asked, grunting in exertion as he threw a punch into the open air. He had been at it for hours.

"Keep your elbow up, kid," Jason grinned instead of answering, taking a drag of the cigarette that he balanced idly between his fingers. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the wind ruffling his hair gently.

" _'Keep your elbow up',_ " Richie muttered under his breath, in a high and mocking pitch. Jason snorted around his cigarette. The boy turned towards the older man and raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the setting sun. "I'm serious, Jason. Why can't I go with you?"

Jason eyed the boy for a moment, before he stood up, jumping down from the top of the crates he had been lounging on, landing on the dry, loose dust that covered the ground. He walked up to the boy with an easy smirk, feeling more relaxed than he had in months. "You really want to? In all seriousness?"

"Yes!" Richie exclaimed, throwing his arms up in exasperation. He tilted his head up to maintain eye contact as Jason neared. "In complete and utter seriousness."

"Okay, Rich," Jason pacified, huffing in amusement as the boy became more agitated. "If you can beat me right now, you get to come on patrol with me."

Richie gaped. "Beat you? Jay, that's _impossible_."

Jason couldn't help the feeling of arrogance and pride that made his chest swell slightly, and he couldn't quite wipe the conceited smirk off his face as he answered, "Not quite, kid. Come on, I believe in you."

"Jay," Richie said, trailing off and sounding unsure, "I don't know-"

"I'll pull my punches, I swear."

"But-"

Jason rushed at Richie. It obviously threw the boy off balance, but he dipped and weaved under Jason's arm before they made contact. The boy scuttled back, hands up defensively as Jason turned, a wild grin on his face.

"What the hell, Jason!" Richie exclaimed incredulously, breathing hard.

"That was good, Rich," he encouraged, "Come on, kid – _fight me_."

The kid's lips curled. He ran forward with a cry, fists up. Jason was ready. He blocked the kid's hits as they rained down. The boy quickly tired, so Jason jabbed at his chest with a closed fist.

Richie stumbled back. Jason let him. The boy gasped for air, and for a moment, he looked like he was going to puke, before he straightened up, snarling. He charged once more, but Jason could see the glint of determination in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Jason smirked wolfishly. He aimed for the kid's shoulder, but Richie dived to the side. The momentum threw the older man forward and Richie lashed out with his heel, driving him further onward. He regained his balance and whipped around.

He advanced towards his younger opponent. He snapped his fist into the boy's face. It was pulled, and aimed towards the side of his head, but Richie still staggered back at the blow. Jason didn't give him time to recover. He slammed his foot into the side of the boy's ribcage.

Richie fell to the side, but kept himself on his feet. His breath hitched. Adrenaline and anger mixed in his veins and he shook his head violently to clear his mind. Sweat was thrown from the ends of his hair onto the surrounding dirt.

With a yell, the kid threw his foot up high, aiming for a kick. But Jason ducked, sliding easily into a leg-sweep. Richie's support was knocked out from under him. His back smashed into the ground and he coughed painfully as dust swirled up around his face. He shook his head in defeat, his white flag of surrender. Jason crouched by his head with a gloating smirk.

"You're not even sweating," Richie breathed incredulously, accusingly, and Jason huffed in amusement. He rolled his eyes and stood up, heading back towards the trailer.

He threw a glance over his shoulder. "You coming or what?"

Richie's head snapped up from where he still lay on the ground, his body at a ninety-degree angle. "On patrol?"

Jason smirked, facing forward once more. "Sure."

He was suddenly tackled from behind, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He could feel Richie vibrating in eagerness. "Even though you beat me? Really? In all seriousness?"

Jason snorted. He reached around and gripped the back of the boy's shirt, tugging him forward and swinging him up into his arms. The boy shrieked as he was suddenly swinging upside down, strong hands gripping his ankles.

Jason grinned. "Yeah, kid. In complete and utter seriousness."


	3. Chapter 3

They were criticised for being copycats, and the newspapers christened them _Batman and Robin 2.0_. It irritated Jason to no end, especially when Richie would smile at the comparison, feeling honoured. The boy was confused about why the older vigilante never seemed to appreciate the analogy, but Jason remembered having heroes and idols at that age, and he had no interest in smearing the image of Batman in the young boy's eyes – he couldn't deal with the kid's doleful look and moping for the following days.

Jason wasn't stupid; he kept the boy at his side at all times when on patrol, and left him at home when he felt that Richie would be out of his depth. The boy was nowhere near Jason's level, or even the level that he was at when he was Robin, but he made up for it with enthusiasm. It turned out that the boy was much better at evasive techniques than brute strength – he was agile, and had the aerial moves to match.

Red Tyro – that was Richie's alter-ego. Jason had suggested it as a joke, but the boy had said that it sounded _badass_ , even if he didn't particularly know what it meant, which made it even more funnier in Jason's eyes. That was what happened when you let kids name themselves.

They hadn't had any company from a certain family, but Jason knew that Bruce had heard about his new partner. News about the Red Hood and his new protégé was hard to avoid. Which was why, about a week after their arrangement began, he wasn't surprised, or even irritated, when he felt the itch of someone tailing them, hiding in the shadows.

He turned to Richie, cutting off whatever the boy had been saying. He hadn't been listening anyway – the boy had a habit running his mouth, and Jason hadn't gotten around to training it out of him. If anything, he liked the constant chatter. It served as a distraction from the mutterings of the Lazarus Pit that would sometimes echo in his head.

"Listen to me, Red," he said quietly, and the boy snapped to attention. Another quality Jason liked – _obedience_. He kept walking steadily, trying not to indicate to their audience that he had been made, and Richie matched his pace without protest.

"Don't panic, but there is someone following us," he paused, waiting for some type of reaction, but Richie just swallowed and nodded. He continued, "We're going to go somewhere safe, but I need you to do everything I say. You got it?"

Richie hummed in affirmation, so Jason nodded and subtly picked up the pace. He headed for another safe-house of his, nothing more than an abandoned building. With Richie, he slipped through the skylight – it wasn't the only point of entry, but it was easier to defend, and their follower didn't know that there were other entrances.

After Jason had sent Richie to another room, he stood beneath the skylight, waiting. Sure enough, their shadow appeared, freezing as he made eye contact with Jason through the window. Jason glared, projecting authority and ensuring that the other man knew that he would be in control of the following situation. The man nodded in understanding, so Jason stepped back after a moment, consenting to letting the man down through the skylight.

Jason spoke before the other vigilante could. "The boy is none of your concern."

"While I admit that I am curious, he's not why I'm here," he confessed, stepping forward. Jason let his fingers trail over the holster of his gun warningly, and he stopped his advance.

"Then what do you want, Tim?"

"Your help."

"If you think that I'd ever help _you_ -"

"Hood?"

Jason cut himself off, snapping his head around in the direction of the soft voice, knowing that the other vigilante was analysing the situation carefully to report back to the Bat. In the doorway, Richie peaked around the edge of the doorway, wide-eyed as he stared fixedly at their guest. He had taken his modified bandana off, his identity revealed. Jason bristled.

" _What's wrong? What do you want_?" Jason said in Romanian, his voice slightly sharp and harsh. By the way that Tim twitched, he didn't understand what the older man was saying, which was what he was going for.

" _What is he doing here?_ " Richie said instead of answering, tilting his head towards Tim. Jason had started teaching him Romanian before he realised that the boy already understood the language - he just needed help in brushing up his pronunciation. Jason didn't care about where or how the boy had learnt the language, so he hadn't asked. " _You said that we'd be safe here_!"

At the slightly hysterical and agitated tone, Jason walked over to Richie's side and rested a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. He felt eyes boring into the back of his head, but he resolutely kept his back faced towards Tim and tried to block his charge from the other vigilante's prying eyes.

" _We are, and he won't hurt you. I won't let him_ ," Jason said quietly, adding, " _I promise_."

Richie's eyes roamed his face, searching for something, before he nodded hesitantly and, with a gentle prod from Jason, returned back inside the room. Watching the kid go, Jason sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb in an attempt to relieve the pressure in his slowly-building headache.

"Jason, who was that? What's his name?" Tim asked. His voice sounded oddly demanding and focused. Jason turned to look at the other vigilante, but his replacement's sharp eyes were trained over his shoulder, on the doorway that Richie had disappeared through, as if to catch a glimpse of the elusive boy again.

"He is nothing that concerns you," Jason said pointedly. He folded his arms across his chest, shifting so that he got in the way of the younger man's stare. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't change the subject, Jason."

"Or what?" he challenged half-heartedly, without the usual bite in his tone. He rolled his eyes and exhaled heavily. "Tim, answer or leave. Your choice."

Tim sighed, obviously frustrated, but took what he got. "Nightwing's been missing for two months, and we need your help."

"Two months?" Jason snorted mirthlessly, "Without any contact?" Tim nodded and Jason laughed outright, shaking his head, "Then he's dead, Tim. Let it go."

"I refuse to believe that," Tim growled.

His irritation and anger was getting the better of him, Jason could tell, and hearing that deep voice reminded him that his replacement was no longer the boy he once was, but a fully capable and an intelligent young man. Jason could take him, no problem, if his anger revealed itself in physical form, but he wouldn't risk Richie like that, not since Tim's interest was already spiked concerning the small boy.

"Does Bruce know you're here?" he tried, and by the clenched jaw and continued silence that answered him, he had hit the nail on the head. "Go home, Tim. There's nothing for you here."

Tim seemed to agree, because, sparing a glance behind Jason, he turned and walked away. But he paused at the doorway, and Jason could see the man fiddling with something in his hands. He tensed.

"Can you just-" he stopped himself. Jason hadn't been around this kid since he had been back, month ago, but he still knew the kid, and Jason knew that the reason his voice was strikingly high, and choked up, was because Tim knew something about the situation that Jason didn't. That something seemed to be a game-changer, and Jason was sure he didn't want to know.

Jason shifted uncomfortably. " _What?_ "

That seemed to snap Tim out of it, because he breathed in deep, his shoulders heaving. He set his burden on the small, rickety table beside the door, and even over the distance between them, Jason could see that it was some sort of device. "Listen to it, Jason."

He nodded stiffly, and Tim left. Jason poked his head around the doorway into the room that contained Richie. The boy had curled himself tightly into the far corner of the room, seemingly weak and defenceless, but Jason could see the contained power and strength in the boy's legs as they trembled in anticipation, waiting to spring into action. When he caught sight of Jason, and how he was alone, Richie relaxed.

"Let's go, Rich," he said quietly.

He swiftly pocketed Tim's parting gift before they left, and when they did, they travelled by rooftops, heading towards the railway tracks where their home lay waiting. Jason knew that the question would come up at some point, so he made no move in prying it out of Richie. Unsurprisingly, the boy only stayed quiet until the sun set and they had reached the trailer – Richie could never keep his mouth shut for extended periods.

Outside, the moon had risen, high and bright, the streetlights out-glaring the stars that were left uncovered by the cloudless sky. They had built a small fire out of spare wood and kept it going with their waste material, old cereal boxes and cardboard cartons. It was quiet for about an hour as they sat on the cold, unforgiving ground, leaning up against the side of their trailer.

"Jay?" Richie asked, and his voice was quiet and edged with something Jason couldn't quite distinguish, almost hesitant.

"Yeah, kid?"

Richie refused to meet his eyes. "Who was that guy?" he paused, then clarified, "The other mask?"

"No one," Jason deflected after a moment, his eyes reflecting the flicking glow of the fire, "Someone from my past, that's all."

"But why-"

"Rich, unless you want me returning the same questions, don't ask," Jason said sharply, looking down at the boy who was leaning up against his side. They made eye contact, before Richie nodded slowly and looked back down at his knees. Jason raised his eyes back to the fire, and wrapped an arm around the kid, pulling him closer.

The kid fell asleep, predictably. He was young, and tired easily after adrenaline rushes. Jason lifted him and moved inside, gently setting him on the mattress, watching him settle, before he headed back outside.

After a moment of hesitation, he pulled out the device, and mused over it in the light of the dying embers of the fire. It was black, and slim – almost like a memory stick, but there was no metal head. There was, however, a tiny switch at the end, and Jason had never seen this kind of tech before. The design was too simple, too discreet, to be Bruce - the man preached practicality, but he fought his battles with _batarangs_ of all things – and Jason had a feeling that Tim himself had produced it himself – he remembered that kid having a knack for technology.

He also remembered Dick. The man was lithe, slender and his personality matched his physique. He was light-hearted, always wanting the best for people – at least that was what he heard, but Jason only remembered the irate expression on his face as he had screamed at Bruce, betrayed and hurt.

 _("Robin was my mother's name for me! You knew that – and you still gave it to that kid?" "Jason, go upstairs." "But-" "Now.")_

He had angrily stormed out of the cave, and he had never seen Dick again, not before his death, but he remembered how cold and lonely he felt living in his shadow. But he had to admit, from what he had heard and from what he had seen since he had come back from the Pit, the man was one of a kind, truly – that much was all Jason would give him.

He flipped the switch, and he started as Dick's voice filled the air. " _Oracle?_ "

" _Yes, Nightwing?_ "

Jason hung his head, his eyes falling shut. He remembered Barbara. Her voice was firm, but a curling lilt of amusement softened the edges, and Jason suddenly felt like an intruder on their companionship, or relationship – or whatever it was these days. There seemed to be an underlying tone of secrecy in their voices, like they knew something he didn't – not in a sinister kind of way, but something between _them_ , something Jason wasn't privy to.

Silence answered her, and she chuckled lightly. It reminded Jason of the sea air, and a gentle breeze. " _You got something? Or did you just call to hear my voice?"_

 _"Why? Are you too busy?"_ Dick joked, but it was half-hearted, and even Jason could hear the unusual strained, hesitant tone, so there was no way Barbara could miss it.

 _"I'm never too busy when it's you,_ " Barbara said, and gone were the soft edges. Her voice was unyielding, and Jason could hear the conviction in her tone, could hear how she listened to Dick with rapt attention. _"Now, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"_

 _"I- I don't know."_

 _"What do you mean you 'don't know'?"_ Barbara said, almost mocking, but focused. _"Do you need help? I can send Red Robin and Robin to your location-"_

 _"No!"_

The silence that followed was heavy and loaded. Jason's brows furrowed in confusion and slight apprehension. Barbara spoke, and her voice was hard, and unforgiving. _"Dick, tell me what's going on-"_

 _"No names in the field-"_

 _"Don't. The line is secure, I made sure."_

There was a pause, before he heard Dick sigh. _"Babs, I can't-"_

 _"Dick, why are you in Blüdhaven?"_ Barbara asked, cutting him off, and Jason could hear the echo of angry, clicking keys. _"You were to patrol Gotham tonight, you know that. Bruce is at that conference in London."_

 _"… I got sidetracked."_

 _"And you ended up all the way over there?"_

 _"Listen, there was this guy that I was following, and he headed up here, okay?"_ Dick said, stiff and sharp. _"But there's a problem..."_

He trailed off. Barbara spoke, " _Yes?"_

 _"I think he's a meta."_

Jason heard Barbara suck in a sharp breath. _"Dick, retreat. We don't know anything about this guy, and there's no way I'm letting you do this by yourself."_

 _"You see, I would go back,"_ Dick said, and Jason could hear dark amusement in his voice. _"But that is the problem – I'm stuck."_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"I mean that he made me, and now I'm in his basement."_

Barbara heaved out a breath, in and out slowly. Jason found himself grinning as he listened to her strained, heated reply. _"Why didn't you say that before?"_

Dick paused, and Jason could hear the playful grin in his voice. _"The guy is gone, I'm alone. Maybe I did want to hear your voice after all."_

Barbara snorted drily, but kept on task. _"I'm sending Red Robin your way, he's nearly done with his section of Gotham anyway-"_

 _"But the door is wired-"_

 _"Then he'll find another way in,"_ Barbara cut him off, confident, _"He'll be fine. Just-"_

 _"No, don't."_

 _"What do you mean 'no'?"_

But Dick wasn't talking to Barbara, and Jason realised at the same time that she did. He heard the sudden increase of furious, clicking keys and listened along with her as Dick spoke. _"What are you doing?"_

 _"Nightwing?"_

 _"Listen, you don't have to do this-"_

 _"Nightwing, answer me. What's happening?"_

 _"No! Please-!"_

There was a surging sound, almost like electricity charging – snapping and cracking sharply. It drowned out Dick's pleas, and suddenly Jason couldn't hear Barbara's protests over the sound of Dick screaming.


	4. Chapter 4

After the tape ended, the sound echoed through the still and silent air around him. He held the device in his hands, staring unseeingly down at it, and suddenly he was back there.

Dick's scream resounded in his head and harmonized with his own. He remembered his own screaming, his own pleas, his own _begging_ explicitly, vividly. He remembered the crowbar, and the pain. The agony of his own bones being broken and ground to dust, and the detached, disinterested feeling of watching his own blood ooze out from his wounds onto the cold, impassive concrete floor of the warehouse.

 _(A cackle of laughter and, "This is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me!", before a raised arm, and he hears the faint whistle of passing air before-_ )

He snarled, thumping his forehead with the heel of his hand. Phantom pains constantly haunted him, and the Pit had cursed him, but it was that _laugh_ that resonated within him. In his nightmares, the sound crawled between his ribs and slithered through his veins. The lips painted a crimson red, the giggles and pure glee that the man – that _sadist_ – had radiated tormented him, day and night.

He growled and threw the device to the ground, grinding it beneath his foot until it was indistinguishable. He felt sympathy for Dick – being captured was no joke, he knew - but he wasn't going to risk his own neck, nor Richie, to save the man.

Suddenly, the wind shifted, and with it, a pair of feet in front of him. The knife was up and out of his boot before he had given it any conscious thought. He surged from his seat and swiftly brought his weapon to the throat of the boy in front of him. The boy raised his hands, unfazed, and smirked.

He was taller than Jason remembered, but still short, barely chest-height, and, to his surprise, the boy wasn't wearing his costume. Jason could begrudgingly understand his reasoning. The clothes he wore now – an unbuttoned, black blouson jacket and grey shirt – were probably more discreet than the almost glaring crimson of the boy's suit.

"What are you doing here?" Jason said, his grip in the boy's shirt tightening in anger, "How did you know where I was?"

"Drake's boomer has GPS."

He paused, before throwing the boy back, watching emotionless as he stumbled before straightening, accusingly dusting off his jacket. Jason sighed. "What is it with people following me?"

"Well, it's not like you keep a phone on you," the boy smirked, and added, "And even if you did, you wouldn't have given us the number."

"Damn right," Jason scoffed. He kept his knife held loosely in front of him, ready to strike. He turned and snorted, gesturing to the crushed gadget behind him. "He calls that thing a boomer?"

"Father calls his weapons batarangs, and Grayson calls his _wingdings_ ," the other vigilante snorted, nonchalant, "It must run in the family."

"I just have guns and bullets. Must mean I'm not family, right?" Jason shrugged, mocking. Damian didn't bother replying. It didn't matter – he had his own family now. It was still, and hushed, before he spoke once more. "So, you here to ask me to help you find Dick's body or-?"

"Grayson's alive," Damian snapped, unhesitating, and so loud that it echoed in the suddenly tense night air. The boy's face had tightened, hard and focused, and he had tensed so quickly that Jason was surprised he hadn't pulled anything. He smirked – obviously a sore spot.

"Yeah, I noticed that you were still using the present tense when you talked about him, Damian," he observed, a sly gleam in his eye, "You're still hopeful, even after two months? Thought you were more realistic than that, kid."

"I'm not a _kid_."

"Your age is still on the clock."

"And _yours_ is on the digital clock."

Jason smirked as Damian snarled at him childishly. As much as he loathed the boy, he could understand, and relate, to that seething rage – it was almost refreshing to find someone that matched his own emotional stability, and he couldn't help but wonder what the kid had seen – or did – with Talia and Ra's to have him in this state. The boy had a strong hatred of having his age brought up in conversation. He deemed his age irrelevant, that _other_ children were irresponsible and careless, needing to be protected – but not him.

Damian gathered himself, smirked and retorted, sharp and biting, "Anyway, from what I've heard, your boy is younger than me."

Jason froze, and stood up straighter, all traces of humour gone. The papers knew that Red Tyro was young, undeniably so, but it was hard to tell the difference between a twelve-year-old and a nine-year-old, especially when they are leaping about, avoiding being hit. But Damian was certain that he was older, and Jason wanted to know how. "How do you know that?"

Damian snorted. "It's hard to believe, I know, but I _do_ have people skills, Todd. One of the homeless told me, said the boy looked around the age of their kid, and she's ten."

"Looks like I'll be having some words around here-"

"Jason," Damian cut him off, although Jason stopped more in shock at the use of his first name, "Let me see him."

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

Jason paused. "He's sleeping."

"Bless him," Damian said, mockingly endearing.

Jason levelled the kid with an unimpressed stare, and let the silence express his annoyance. He scoffed and snuffed out the dying fire with his foot before snapping, "Just leave, Damian."

He headed back into the trailer, and when he turned to shut the doors, the boy was gone.

* * *

Another month passed, and he saw no hide nor hair of either Damian or Tim. Jason couldn't have brought himself to care. It felt like Richie had been with Jason forever, but there were times that Jason would move too fast, or say something too sharply, and Richie would flinch, or curl in on himself, and Jason would be reminded that Richie had lived on the streets before he came along. He never asked, he never pried, but he was slightly wary around the boy, as if he were a wild animal, waiting for him to snap.

It wasn't as if the kid would hurt him, but more because Richie could hurt _himself_. Jason knew how repressed emotions fucked with the mind, and unproductive it was to keep it bottled up. He had seen how it had festered in Bruce, and had experienced himself first-hand after the Pit had amplified his resentment into the seething wrath that consumed him. Like hell he would let Richie go through that by himself.

"Steel, and the strings on a cello."

The kid sat up, spinning around on the mattress, and wrapped his arms around his knees, chin resting delicately on the top of his knees. Lying on their bed, Jason stared up at the boy who was directly above his head. He smiled lazily. "Really? That's very specific."

Richie nodded vigorously. "Yeah, definitely."

"Okay, and what about sounds?"

Richie paused, brows furrowed in concentration, and Jason chuckled lightly at how serious the boy looked. The kid's face suddenly cleared, and Jason raised his eyebrows expectantly. Richie grinned. "The sound of a train pulling into a station."

Jason thought of the shunting trains, the rumbling and faint thuds as they rolled over the bumps in the track. The ringing sound of the high whistle as the train pulled up into the station, almost melodic in its own right, and he found himself agreeing.

He was pulled from his musings by a small thump on his shoulder. He looked up accusingly, and Richie grinned happily above him. Perhaps if he had been a few years younger, he would have been beaming, mirroring the smile, but, as it were, only a ghost of a smile graced his lips. "Yes?"

Richie shrugged his shoulders. "Do me. What do you think of when you think of me?"

"Blueberries and puddles," he said, without hesitation. It was a stupid game, even he had to admit, but there was nothing to do, and whoever was above had decided to open their heavens, attempting to drown Gotham like a rat it was.

"What else?"

"The feeling of a cool breeze on your skin when it's a hot day."

Richie snorted. "Very poetic, dude."

"Hey, you asked," Jason defended himself half-heartedly. He folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time, his shoulders slumped, relaxed, and he scratched idly at his own scalp. He often found himself doing it, and it reminded him of Alfred, who used to cup his head gently and run his fingers through his hair comfortingly.

Richie spoke up, sounding thoughtful, if a little quiet. "You know, you're actually kind of nice."

Jason snorted, and rolled his eyes. He threw himself forward and heaved himself up, fetching his guns from the holsters in his suit, before sitting cross-legged on the mattress with a rag in one hand, and his glock in another. "Thanks - I think."

Richie observed him dissemble the gun silently, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Then the kid looked down, watching his own hands, almost despairingly.

He eyed the boy out of the corner of his eye. The atmosphere in the trailer had changed from light and clear to stuffed and not-quite tense. Jason didn't remember when it had turned, but he found himself shifting uncomfortably. He said, easy and gentle, "Kid, if I'm your idea of nice, then who had you been around before me?"

Quietly, and to Jason's surprise, Richie answered. "On the street, I was always so _hungry_ …"

He trailed off. Jason shifted closer and nudged him with his elbow, lips quirking encouragingly when the kid reluctantly met his gaze. "Yeah?"

Sighing deeply, Richie continued slowly. "I usually got by – you'd be amazed by the amount people just threw away – but I could never stay in one place. 'Cause, you know, I'm a kid – people get suspicious."

He paused, and dropped his eyes to the floor, as if ashamed. Jason felt something constrict in his chest at the sight. Richie said quietly, almost pleading, "I didn't know, Jason, I swear. But I went into this guy's territory, or something, looking for food, you know, but he caught me looking, and he got so _angry_ -"

The kid suddenly stopped, blinking rapidly, and it was silent for a moment. Jason forgot the gun in his hands, and he asked quietly, "Did this guy hurt you, Rich?"

Richie nodded hesitantly. He rubbed his thumb over the faded pattern on the threadbare mattress idly. His eyes tracked the pointless movement.

Jason heard his jaw click audibly. Suddenly, all he could think about was the gun in his hands, and how fast he could assemble it – how fast he could _fire_ it. "Kid?"

Richie hummed questioningly, looking up.

"Don't tell me anything about what the guy looked like, nothing particular or specific. Nothing that I could find him by."

"Why?"

Jason stared at Richie, unnervingly. "You know why, kid."

Richie searched his face before nodding, understanding. He continued, "He just sprained my arm – the right one."

Jason felt his chest vibrate with a growl, and he swallowed the snarl that had been swiftly rising up his throat. Distracting himself, he gestured to the kid's arm, his voice was tight, controlled. "It's obviously fine now, though. Did you do it yourself?"

He highly doubted it, and, as predicted, Richie shook his head. "Nope. I got a brace at that clinic? North-east of the river?"

"Leslie Thompkins?"

"Yeah."

And suddenly, all Jason can think of is of grey hair, and gentle wrinkles. A soft smile, caring and loving, and calloused fingertips tracing the bruise on his face, or stitching the wound on his side. He remembered a voice like a cascading waterfall, or a whispering meadow. Jason remembered Leslie, remembered how she was as close to a mother as he had ever had.

Richie seemed to realise that the mood had shifted subtly and asked tentatively, "Jay?"

"Yeah?" he croaked, after a moment. He cleared his throat, ridding it of a lump, and leaned back to rest against the trailer side, the springs creaking ominously beneath him.

"What did that guy with the mask want?" Richie asked, clarifying, "The guy that you used to know?"

Jason sighed heavily. The kid had been asking at irregular intervals over the past couple of weeks, not letting it drop, but not pressing the issue when Jason would brush him off, either. Although, seeing as they seemed to be in the sharing mood, Jason answered him willingly. "His name's Tim, and he told me that a guy I once knew has gone missing."

Richie seemed to be surprised that he had gotten an actual answer, instead of a half-hearted deflection. He recovered quickly, taking advantage of the situation, and followed up with another question. "What was the guy's name?" he paused, "The missing guy."

"Richard Grayson. Went by Dick, though," Jason snorted, "No clue why. I think it's too phallic, if you ask me."

At the sudden, heavy silence, he looked up. Richie had gone pale, and his eyes were wide, as if he had seen a phantom. He placed his hand on the kid's shoulder, trying to ground him as his brows furrowed in concern. "Rich? You good?"

There was no answer, but he could see the boy's hands trembling. He threw the barrel of the gun onto the mattress, and the boy flinched at the clanging sound it made as it struck the other parts. A sense of foreboding creeping up his spine, Jason turned to face Richie head on and put both of his hands on the kid's shoulders, shaking him slightly to draw his attention. "You're freaking me out, kid. What's up?"

"… How does he _know_?"

That wasn't what he had been expecting. It was said quietly, whispered, and Jason had had to strain to hear him. Bewildered, he shook his head, but the boy still wouldn't meet his eyes, staring fixedly at the space over Jason's shoulder. "What do you mean?" He shook him, and Richie's eyes snapped to his. "Answer me, kid."

"My- my name…"

He trailed off. Jason nodded. "Yeah, I know. It's Richie."

"No. I- It's Dick -"

Jason froze.

"- _Grayson_."


	5. Chapter 5

He shifted back slowly. His hands dropped from the boy's shoulders. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in, and suddenly he couldn't get one back in. A high-pitched squeal echoed in his ears, and rage that had begun to slowly build rumbled through his veins - eerily similar what he had felt after the Lazarus Pit. He was so _stupid_. Nothing was ever that easy, the world had made that point time and time again. How dense was he to think that for once - just _this_ once - he would be allowed to be _happy_.

Perhaps, it explained things. _That_ was why the boy had felt familiar – not because they had both survived and scavenged whatever they could on the streets, but because he already _knew_ him. He had trusted this kid, had fed him, _clothed_ him with his own hard-fought-for money. He had believed in him, taken him in and treated him as his own family.

The thought crept up on him, and he felt his hands shaking as they clenched into fists. He thought he had finally escaped from under the shadow of that damn man. It felt like Bruce had him on a leash, and the man would let him run, let him think he had escaped, let him think he was free – before he tugged the rope around his neck taut and Jason would fly back to him, choking, struggling to get free, struggling to _breathe_. Bruce had sent his golden boy after him – in _this_ state. How _pitiful_.

"How?"

"I- I don't know," Dick – not Richie - stuttered out, wide-eyed and flustered, "I fell asleep in bed, and I woke up in this basement, with chains. It was so _cold_ -"

Jason cut him off with a snap. "How did you get out?"

"The cuffs were loose enough for me to slip out of them."

Jason remembered the recording, and sat up straighter, interest spiked despite himself. "Was someone there with you when you woke up?"

"N- No," the boy said slowly, "The - The door was open, and I just walked out."

That sounded wrong, suspicious. It sounded like the boy was lying – but sure, he had been lying the _entire time_ , but Jason had never caught on, so who was he to know? Jason abruptly felt very tired, and very old. He wasn't in the mood to ask again, or force the issue, so he changed the subject.

"You didn't think to tell me?" Jason said, and he hated how even he could hear the pain in his own voice, "What? Did you not trust me, kid?"

"What?" Dick said incredulously, and Jason was almost fooled by his bewildered tone, " _No_ , Jason, I trust you, I do. I- I just didn't at the start." he winced, before moving on quickly, "That's why I told you my name was Richie, and I didn't tell you about what happened, and then we- we became friends, or something, and then there was never the right time to say."

"Richie," Jason started, and he paused, anger rising at his own slip-up, "Why didn't you just tell me at the start? I could have-"

" _You're the Red Hood!_ "

A deadly silence settled. Jason felt his own face contort into something resembling relaxed, but there must have been a dark edge in his eyes that made Dick shift back hesitantly. Jason eyed the boy and asked slowly, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Dick seemed surprised at himself, as if he hadn't meant to say anything. He stammered out, "I- I didn't-"

"If you didn't mean it, then you wouldn't have said it," he snapped, "Tell me."

"Jason," he paused, hesitating, as if he knew the next words would hurt the older man, "The Red Hood is- is scary," he said, and that was enough, Jason got the point, but he went on, emphasizing, "You _kill_ people."

"And you thought I would kill you?"

The following silence was all the answer he needed. Dick realised his mistake, and hurriedly spoke, almost frantically. "It was stupid, okay? Really stupid. I knew you wouldn't hurt me – really, I did – but-"

"I can't do this," he muttered to himself under his breath, angrily running a hand through his hair. He shot to his feet, Richie – _Dick_ – following his lead in confusion, bewildered. He snatched up his leather jacket, the worn, butter-soft material feeling familiar – unlike everything else. "I'm sleeping outside."

He turned his back on the boy's opened-mouth expression and headed towards the exit. Dick – _Richie?_ \- stuttered. "But it's still wet outside!"

Jason didn't reply, but he grabbed an extra blanket on the way out. He saw the boy gaping at him in his peripheral vision, and wasn't at all surprised when the kid added, incredulously, "Are you really? In all seriousness?"

Jason felt betrayed by his own body and growled as his heart panged at the joke. The kid threw out a hand in an attempt to stop the older vigilante, but Jason swiftly swatted the boy's hand off his arm and turned, snapping, "Kid, this is how this is going to play out: you do not touch me, nor do you speak to me, am I clear?"

"But I don't understand-"

Jason whipped around, and the boy flinched. He gripped the kid's wrist tightly, bruising. "I said, _leave me alone_ ," he snarled, jerking the boy to emphasize his point, "Can you get that through your thick skull, _kid_?"

And for a second, the boy looked scared - terrified, really – as he looked back at him with wide eyes, and Jason couldn't take it, because it reminded him of that night, the night when he had found Richie and the boy had struggled to get away because he hadn't trusted Jason to not _kill_ him.

He suddenly threw Dick back, as if burnt, but he thrust him back harder than he had meant to, because the boy fell to the ground, cradling his wrist. Jason could hear his breath hitch as he eyed the towering figure before him. After a moment, the kid nodded shakily, so he turned and left the trailer. His eyes burned.

* * *

There was a part of Jason – one that he couldn't deny was larger than he felt comfortable with – that wanted to keep Dick as Richie, wanted to keep him young – merely because Richie was _his_. Jason had looked after him and cared for him. _He_ had been the one that had practically raised the kid for months now, and the thought of the kid leaving left Jason aching in a way that made him feel hollow, and empty.

If he admitted to himself, quietly and without a fuss, that he had grown to love the kid, then that was no one's business but his own. But he knew if Bruce ever found out about Richie's true identity - and that Jason hadn't bothered to tell him - then he would never live a life of peace, and would be hounded until the end of his days – which, considering, wouldn't be that terribly far in the future.

"Get up, kid," Jason snapped, storming into the trailer, the sun barely over the horizon. He hadn't slept at all.

By the look of things, either had Dick. The boy was still in the clothes from yesterday, and he was curled up in the corner of the trailer, away from the stained mattress. His dark hair was ruffled, and Jason could see the red-rimmed edges of his eyes from where they were bestowed over dark, drooping under-eye bags. The boy glared over his knees at the older vigilante, and Jason could feel them reaching a stalemate as he glared back, hands on his hips.

All of a sudden, time felt reversed, and they were back to the first few days of Richie's stay with Jason a few scant months ago. Richie had been wary, never turning his back and eerily silent then, and so now was Dick. Jason found himself self-consciously mourning the time of trust and companionship between them.

Looking at the boy now in a new and finer light, Jason didn't know how he hadn't noticed the similarities before. Not only did he resemble Dick when he was older - now that he knew to look - but the kid also seemed to have the same aerial skills and abilities to match his older counterpart.

"Or what?" Dick snapped, challenging, "You gonna make me?"

He pulled up his sleeve accusingly. Jason's eyes were drawn to the finger-shaped bruises that wrapped around the thin wrist. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the multiple hues of colour that stained the boy's skin, and he felt bile burn his throat. He took a step back unconsciously, but stayed silent. He felt guilty, and ashamed of his actions, which he hadn't felt in a long time.

Abruptly, Dick sighed heavily, resigned, and stood. He reached for his jacket and slipped it on. "Where are we going?"

Jason shook himself, and his impenetrable walls rose as he cleared his throat gruffly. He straightened, and his eyes hardened. "To the Wayne manor."

"You mean to _Bruce_ Wayne's house? That millionaire?" Dick asked incredulously, freezing. He slowly turned around with wide eyes. "Why the hell would we go there?"

Jason eyed the boy with narrowed eyes for a moment, but his confusion seemed sincere. Jason snorted and walked out the door. He heard the boy unfreeze and scamper after him. "I'm pretty sure it's billionaire, actually."

"Which is all the more reason not to go!" Dick exclaimed, waving his hands dramatically as he walked beside him. Jason kept facing ahead and tried not to laugh. "He'll take one look at us and call the GCPD – and _that_ relies on us actually meeting him," Dick added, and the boy seemed to wind down as he muttered, "His place is probably built like fortress."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Jason scoffed knowingly, and couldn't help the scornful smirk that stretched his lips. "But I'm certain he'll make room for _you_ , kid."

"Me? Why me?"

"No reason."

* * *

Dick was relentless, but Jason was unmoving. The boy asked, and asked, on the way, but Jason didn't give anything away, more in fear of saying something he didn't mean to. He had been convinced that the boy didn't know anything after his endless questioning - so _if_ Bruce had set him up to this, he had no clue about it.

Jason had felt a highly strung and taut part of him unclench at the realisation, because it meant that he had no solid reason to continue being hostile towards the kid. But another part of him felt irrationally betrayed and hurt by Dick, and he noticed that part of him grow more and more pronounced the closer they got to the manor.

They arrived at the towering gates in silence. Dick had given up his interrogation sullenly after Jason had snapped at him angrily, but he perked up as he watched the older man buzz the intercom. The vigilante didn't say anything – he knew Bruce had a camera wired into the speaker.

Sure enough, the gate creaked open without a word. Dick followed him with hesitant footsteps through the open gate and breathed, "How did you-?"

"Keep up, kid," Jason called out behind him, already several paces ahead. Just like Dick, Jason had kept his own secrets, and like hell was he going to reveal them to him – he could let Bruce do that one. Jason could just imagine his uncomfortable not-quite squirming and clenched jaw.

He stormed up the driveway, Dick nearly having to run at his side to keep up. He stopped abruptly at the bottom of the steps leading to the porch, and then the front door. Dick looked up at him from where he stood at his side silently, his eyes begging to understand, but Jason felt far more pairs of eyes on him than one set. He glared at the windows of the manor, but the shadows hid those inside too well.

"You see that door?" he asked the boy rhetorically, pointing unnecessarily, "You go up there and knock-"

Dick spluttered. " _What?_ "

"-and either Bruce or one of his family will answer. Tell whoever that answers what your name is, and you're sorted."

"By myself?"

Jason looked down at the boy, and he seemed to be even smaller than he usually was, standing in front of the sizeable, imposing manor. "Yeah."

It was silent for a moment, and Dick shifted uneasily beneath his stare. "Listen, Jason, I know you don't like me-" he couldn't explain the painful pang in his chest at that, "-but can you just-" the kid paused, wetting his lips anxiously, "You know - stay?"

"Why?"

The boy seemed thrown by the short, gruff tone, and he suddenly seemed to shrink in on himself, his shoulders hunching and beginning to engage in some serious hand-wringing. Despite himself, Jason couldn't help but miss the confidence that once radiated from the boy – the sense of self-worth and assurance that he had installed in the kid.

"Bruce Wayne is a stranger, and so is his family," he said, quiet and doubtful. "I don't _know_ these people."

"So?" Jason scoffed, "You didn't know me a few months ago, either. Go make some new friends-"

"Jason, I didn't even know he had a family. I thought they all - you know - _died_."

"His parents did," Jason said, turning away, "But he adopted some kids, had another one himself kid and now he has a new family. A bit of a mix-and-match, but he-"

A small hand at his elbow cut him off, but it was snatched away, as if burnt, before he could react. He spun on his heel, looking down with narrowed eyes and raised brows in expectation. The boy was pale, and wary, as if he had expected a raised hand instead. Jason's stomach rolled at the sight.

Dick hesitated, then said quietly, almost pleading, " _Please_?"

He glared down at the nervously shifting boy impassively. Jason didn't care, he truly didn't, but he found himself nodding sharply and heading up to the door of the manor with Dick in tow, regardless.


	6. Chapter 6

He didn't bother knocking, he just stormed up the porch and thrust open the door over Dick's quiet protests – they knew he was coming anyway. The foyer seemed smaller and less intimidating than what he remembered, but perhaps that was because he was taller, or because he had built up enough confidence in himself since leaving to not cower beneath high ceilings and open spaces in a room. He heard Dick stutter to a stop before he had even made it through the threshold.

But the entrance to the grand house wasn't as empty as it usually was, because, subtly standing in a loose semicircle, were all four current residents of the accommodation. At the sight of the gathered people, Dick kept his small body behind Jason's larger one – an action he had ingrained in the boy whenever they were facing a threat – and Jason felt his chest tighten as he felt a small hand tug at the bottom of his shirt and not let go.

However, perhaps the most intimidating of all was the black beast of a dog standing guard in the far doorway, leading to the kitchen. Jason remembered that the dog belonged to Damian, and he could see the similarities between the pet and owner, as Titus growled his discontent loudly, rumbles rising from deep in his chest. Jason eyed the Great Dane warily, and he felt Dick shift anxiously behind him.

Jason couldn't bring himself to repress his snort of amusement as he eyed the Wayne family. Damian stood near the kitchen door, closer to his pet, with his arms crossed defensively and feet set shoulder-width apart. Dressed as Robin, perhaps the look would have made an impression – especially with the furrowed brows and seemingly permanent scowl in place – but dressed in pyjamas, not so much.

Tim seemed to be in a similar, if a more dishevelled, situation. His dark hair was unkempt, and it looked like he had either been going for a bouffant look, or had just rolled out of bed. Which, considering the time, the latter was probably more likely. He was shirtless, which was a sight that Jason could have lived the rest of life not seeing, and his sweats hung loosely around his hips, the ends of which trailed on the ground and partially covered his bare feet.

Bruce, on the other hand, was immaculate. Even this early in the morning, he was up and dressed in a dark, almost black, maroon dress-shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, but he had no shoes on, just plain black socks, which defeated the look. Bruce just stared back impassively, but he thought he saw an almost regretful glint in the older man's eyes, and Jason still felt his lip curl at the sight of it.

The only one with their arms not crossed warily was Alfred, who had his hands held politely behind his back, as per usual. Jason felt a large part of him relax as he made eye contact with the old butler. The older man had a soft quirk to his lips and a gentle look in his eye that made Jason feel welcomed and warm all over.

"So, you're brought the boy," Bruce observed quietly, shifting forward. Jason snapped his eyes to the man and stepped back, his glare warning. Bruce paused, before raising his hands passively and stepping back once more. "Care to introduce us, Jason?"

Jason opened his mouth to reveal the boy's identity, almost imagining the dumb-founded looks on each of their faces, when he realised who Bruce were looking at – him, and not Dick. The man was eying him questionably, almost expectant, and Jason hated the way that he felt himself scramble for an answer because it reminded him of the look Batman would give him when he was Robin. It was when Bruce knew the answer to a case, and was just waiting for Jason to figure it out -

"You _knew_ ," Jason suddenly exclaimed, and his voice was loud and accusing. It echoed in the vast foyer, his voice bouncing around the high ceilings before settling like ice between them. He continued, snarling quieter, "You knew this _whole time_ , didn't you?"

Bruce shook his head calmly, but admitted, "I suspected."

" _How?_ " Jason asked, bewildered. He felt Dick move forward, confused but intrigued, and he had an overwhelming urge to pick the boy up and shuttle him out of the manor, because this was too much, too much involvement with Bruce than he was comfortable with, and he just wanted to return to his life before, with Richie and their stupid games about trains and puddles. He curled his hands into fists at his side and let Dick inch his way around him, towards Bruce.

"I practically raised the boy, Jason. Of course, I would recognise him," the billionaire said, and there was an almost mocking, accusing edge to his voice that made Jason stiffen, "Leslie called me the night he went to her clinic, after he left, but she wasn't sure. I doubted it myself, so I had him followed, but now-"

"You were following me?"

Bruce seemed to freeze at the soft voice, and Jason enjoyed immensely as he watched the man hesitantly look down at the boy for the first time since they had arrived. It was almost like he was afraid to, but once he caught a glimpse of the boy, his eyes then roamed over his small body, categorising everything. He tried to hide the nostalgic look on his face, but Jason could see it, because Jason had studied, practically worshipped this man growing up and subsequently knew nearly all of his tells.

It never occurred to Jason how strange this must be for Bruce – or for Alfred, for that matter. They were the only two in the room who had been around when Dick was at this age the first time, and seeing him once more must be very poignant, considering.

"Yes, I was," Bruce said softly. He moved forward, crouching down to Dick's height, and Jason didn't try to stop him. Dick crossed his arms and, losing his confidence, moved back, bumping into Jason's legs. Jason rested a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Is that why you sent Tim and Damian after us?" Jason snapped, glaring down at the man kneeling.

After a moment of Dick not looking at him, eyes trained on the floor, Bruce stood and ran a hand through his hair, sighing wearily. "I _did_ tell them not to engage-"

"If it is Grayson, then we needed to turn him back. I wasn't going to wait."

Jason felt his brows furrow. "But after that, you left us alone for a while. Why?"

"Because you obviously weren't going to let us anywhere near him, and he seemed to be in good hands," Tim explained, stepping forward. He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, a sly smirk on his face. "Plus, Damian and I wanted to see how long it would take for you to work it out."

Jason snarled deep in his throat, because Tim made his comment sound like an insult, like he was mocking him, as if this was all a game. Bruce cleared his throat in an attempt to break the sudden, silent tension in the room. His attempts didn't work. Jason felt himself begin to tremble and he eyed Tim warily as the other man shrugged his shoulders back and raised his chin, that damn smirk still stretching his lips. Brinkmanship had been reached.

Bruce sighed loudly, almost unconcerned, and changed the subject. "We'll need to run some tests. We don't know for certain-"

"Master Bruce," Alfred said, speaking up for the first time. His voice was not loud, nor demanding, but everyone fell silent as if it had been. "If I may speak freely," he paused, and Bruce nodded, but it seemed more like a formality and habit than explicit permission. The butler continued, confident, "That boy is Dick Grayson. Of that, I have no doubt."

Said boy wringed his hands, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt, as everyone's eyes turned to him. His face seemed to crumble at the overwhelming attention, and he gnawed at his bottom lip nervously.

When the old butler stepped forward, his eyes snapped to his. Alfred knelt down in front of Dick, much like Bruce had done, although he was much slower and more cautious of his aging joints. Jason could hear the bones in the old man's knees creak and he winced in sympathy.

"You don't know me, do you?" he asked quietly, and Dick shook his head slowly. He was the quietest Jason had ever heard him be, but Alfred just smiled reassuringly in the face of his non-verbal answer. "Well, then, it seems introductions are in order. I am the Wayne's butler, and have been for many years. My name is Alfred Pennyworth – although you can just call me Alfred."

At the butler's wink, Dick grinned. He shrugged off Jason's hand and walked towards the old man, sticking out his hand. "My name is Richard Grayson – but you can call me Dick." He winked in a similar manner.

Alfred shook the offered hand with a small chuckle, and slowly stood. "I have a feeling that you and I will soon become good friends, Master Dick," he dusted off his knees, even though the floor was spotless due to his own unrivalled housekeeping. He turned to the boy, and offered out his hand with a smile, "I also have a feeling that you like Brioche French toast with blueberry compote."

Dick laughed. "I don't even know what half of those words _mean_. How could I know if I liked it?"

"Well," Alfred said, "We'll just have to go see, won't we?"

Dick nodded enthusiastically and took the butler's hand, but the old man didn't move. It took a moment for Jason to realise it was because Alfred was staring at _him_. He raised his eyebrows questionably, and, prompted, the butler said quietly, "As long that's quite alright with you, Master Jason?"

Jason looked down at Dick, saw his beaming smile and how he was practically bouncing on his feet. It wasn't a choice – Jason hadn't seen that smile since last night when it all came out, and he had ached to see it since. He nodded.

Dick hollered, and Alfred laughed outright. Jason grinned, amused, and caught a mirror of his own smile plastered on Bruce's face as he also watched the two head for the kitchen. The butler shooed Titus away from the doorway and the dog moved to the side before following the two down the hallway, sniffing curiously at a giggling Dick.

"French toast with blueberries is Grayson's favourite," Damian said, almost accusingly, and suddenly the illusion of tranquillity disappeared, and his shoulders tensed so quickly that it hurt. "Not that you would know that, Todd."

Jason just glared at the boy, full of spite. Damian glared back, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.

"Damian, go into the kitchen," Bruce suddenly ordered, continuing, "You too, Tim."

Tim protested. "But-"

Bruce cleared his throat, and the glint in his eyes was one that Jason remembered from his days of being Robin. Tim and Damian couldn't disobey, so they didn't, and Jason watched them silently as they headed to the hallway that lead to the kitchen without even a glance backwards.

Jason snorted. "That's one thing I don't miss."

Bruce stared at him for a moment, before he strolled casually into the parlour, the place where Jason knew he took his guests when he invited them into his house. Not that Jason had been invited, and not that he cared. If Bruce had asked him to follow him, he wouldn't have, but he didn't, so he did.

Bruce sat down on the arm of the settee, laced hands hanging between his spread knees. Jason remained standing, arms folded tightly across his chest. Bruce seemed to want a peaceful conversation, unlike their previous attempts, and Jason could do civil. The older man raised his brows quizzically. "And what's that?"

"Being under your thumb."

Bruce dropped the pretence of being polite. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "We need to talk, Jason."

Jason shook his head. "If you think I'm leaving him alone with-"

"You were about to outside," Bruce countered quickly, and Jason found himself flinching subtly. He then asked rhetorically, proving his point, "What's changed since then?"

Jason didn't know, and his head was too messed up to figure it out. The area behind his eyes was beginning to ache, and he felt fragile, like he was stretched too thin. Talking to Bruce, or even seeing him, always made him feel angry, but now he felt weary and resigned, as if he had been defeated.

"He doesn't know us, Jason," Bruce continued softly, filling the silence, and Jason found himself hating the understanding tone more than the conversation itself, "From what I can tell, in his timeline, he hasn't been adopted by Bruce Wayne. His parents are dead, and probably the last thing he remembers is being in the detention centre."

Bruce shook his head. "He's changed, he's not how I remember him. He's less trusting, less boisterous, and that's likely due to you and the time you have spent with him. Like it or not, Jason, you're the only family he has now."

Jason shifted and a thought came to him. It bounced around his head before he put it into words, asking quietly, "Why didn't you just take him?"

"You were happier, Jason, and Dick seemed to be the cause of it."

And _there_ was the anger Jason knew as well as he knew a lover. He embraced it and scoffed, "Like you care if I'm _happy_."

He stormed towards the door. He was almost relieved when Bruce jumped up from his seat and stopped him with a hand on his bicep because he truly had no clue where he had been planning to go. He didn't shake off the hand, which Bruce seemed to have expected, if going by the short pause between his action and his words. The billionaire spoke quickly, taking advantage of his opportunity, "I know that it's hard to believe, Jason, but I did once care for you. I _did_ love you-"

"You never loved me!" Jason shouted, deep and grating. He hated how much he could hear how much he cared from the rough edge of his voice. "And what's with the past tense? I thought your whole campaign of _make-Jason-nice-again_ was built on positive vibes and affection-?"

Bruce cut him off with a frustrated sigh. "What I'm trying to say, Jason, is that I know what it's like to love a stranger like a son," he paused, and looked through the doorway to the door leading to the kitchen pointedly, "I have a feeling you do too, now."

Jason shoved Bruce's restraining hand off his arm and stumbled back a few steps. His hands clenched into fists at his side and he snarled. "You don't know _anything_ -"

"I saw the bruise on his arm, Jason."

Jason froze. His eyes widened and he watched the older man warily, before Bruce sighed heavily and dropped his eyes to the floor, breaking eye contact. He scrubbed a hand over his face wearily, and Jason was suddenly struck by how the billionaire seemed to age before his eyes.

"I know what kind of person you are, even after all this time, and I know you didn't mean it," Bruce said quietly, and Jason couldn't have brought himself to say a word in protest of Bruce still knowing him. A lump rose in his throat, and he felt suddenly choked up. "You bringing him here shows me that. You know that this is the best place for him to get help."

"You made a mistake, and now you're trying to atone for it," Bruce continued. He smiled, but it was sad, and strained at the corners. "Can you blame me for trying to do the same?"

After a moment of heavy silence, Jason cleared his throat and nodded. Bruce smiled in response. It came across as more of a grimace, but Jason could appreciate the effort. He turned without saying a word, heading for the kitchen, listening to the soft padding sound of Bruce's socks on the polished floors as he followed him.

Jason tried to ignore how every time he blinked, the world would go blurry.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: warnings for child in pain, and a panic attack, although not explicitly stated as such**

* * *

"This place is _so_ big, Jason," the boy said, wide eyes fixed on the high, jagged ceiling of the cave. His mouth had seemed to permanently gape ever since Bruce had revealed his identity, and Jason couldn't blame him.

They all had had a relatively calm and uneventful breakfast, and Jason couldn't remember the last time he had sat at that table being served food – he knew it had been years, but there were far more people than he remembered, and, strangely, he found it more comfortable. Dick had been positively ecstatic, lumping on so many blueberries onto his toast that Jason had been worried the boy would be sick after months of half-meals and occasionally sour or out-of-date food. But, surprisingly, the kid stomached it all – albeit moaning and groaning about how full he was.

Bruce hadn't messed about afterwards, herding them all towards the grandfather clock in the hallway without saying a word to Dick about _why._ Jason knew the boy was young, and inexperienced, but he wasn't stupid, far from it, so when Bruce rotated the hands of the clock and it swung open obediently, he fell eerily quiet, and his face grew pensive, if a bit hesitant.

Jason practically had to tow the boy in behind him, because he was grinding his heels and shaking his head violently. The older vigilante had felt vaguely ill forcing the boy to follow when he had felt his tense muscles and saw his shaking hands, but had relaxed when the kid stopped, seeing the vast walls of cave, the large computer, and, most importantly, the Batman suit presented proudly in its case – along with Red Robin and Robin.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me, Jay," the boy said accusingly, but the beaming smile and the way he was bouncing on his toes took the possible bite out of his words. "This is so cool!"

"Don't touch that," Jason ordered quietly, drawing the boy away from the laid-out weapons – batarangs and swords, bo-staffs – and lifted him gently under the arms to set him on the medical bed. Dick immediately began to swing his legs back and forth, unable to keep still as he stared open-mouthed around the rest of the cave from his higher vantage point.

Suddenly, the boom-tube in the corner glowed and spluttered. Jason snapped his arm out, shielding Dick, and his hand flew to the holster at his side. Damian growled at him warningly, but Jason took no notice of the other boy, eyes trained on the beaming light, waiting for –

\- Zatanna.

Jason knew of the magic-user, but they had never been in the same circle and had never met for more than a few minutes, and even then, they hadn't spoken one-on-one. But Jason knew that adult-Dick knew her, was friends with her, and trusted her.

Knowing that, Jason relaxed, but he didn't let his guard down. He turned, and glared at Bruce, who was walking up to the pair with hands raised peacefully. The billionaire nodded towards the magic-user, who went straight to business after a tiny wave in greeting, and was unpacking supplies from the bag that she had brought with her. "Since I realised the boy was Dick, I had her filled in and she thinks she has a reversal spell-"

"'Thinks'?" Jason interrupted, sharp and biting. They may have a truce at the moment, but that didn't mean Bruce could hurt the boy under his watch.

"It'll work, Jason," Bruce reassured, and he sounded sure, decisive, which was something Jason was unwilling to say that he needed. He looked down at Dick, and the boy looked back up at him with a smile, but Jason could see the apprehensive look in his eyes, and how the smile was stained at the corners.

Jason ducked his head, catching Dick's eyes as the kid looked away and comfortingly rubbed the boy's leg in small circles. His voice was quiet, meant for only them when he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Will it hurt?"

Jason didn't have an answer, because he didn't know, but Zatanna was suddenly at their side, saving him from responding. She smiled a smile that Jason immediately didn't trust. "No, Dick. It shouldn't hurt too bad."

"Oh, that's good, I guess."

At the sound of the boy's completely trusting, soft voice, something in him snapped, and he roughly grabbed Zatanna's arm. Bruce shifted forward warningly but Jason snarled deep in his throat and ignored him. "Zatanna, can I speak to you for a minute?"

"Sure," the magic-user said softly, not intimidated in the slightest, and, with a small wave to grinning Dick, who was still idly swinging his legs on the medical bed, she willingly let herself be dragged to a far-away corner.

When they were out of the hearing range of the small boy, Jason didn't beat around the bush. He crossed his arms. "You're lying to him. Why?"

"Of course, I'm lying to him, Jason," she said, suddenly hard and focused, and there was something else in her voice that instantly put him on edge, "This is one of the most painful spells that I can think of - and I know _a lot_ of spells. That boy needs to go through 16 years of aging in mere moments – it's not going to be easy. But I'm not going to tell him that it'll be agonising for him – what's the point in that? What will that achieve?"

Jason felt like he was going to be sick, and it must have shown on his face, because Zatanna sighed, and softened her tone. She touched his arm lightly. "I'll try my best not to hurt him, Jason, I will. But my priority is making sure the spell actually _works_ , alright?"

Jason nodded jerkily. He cleared his throat and gently pushed passed the women, heading towards Dick. Bruce and Alfred had moved away from the boy and were now having a hushed discussion between themselves, hands waving and voices low. Damian and Tim were moving around the bed, lighting candles and painting symbols that made Jason feel slightly queasy to see.

He stood in front of Dick, the boy's knees pressing into his stomach uncomfortably due to his elevated height. He could have moved, he could have shifted, but Jason hadn't touched the boy unless necessary all day, and the last time he did he had hurt the kid, had _bruised_ him. Well, apart from the hand on his shoulder when confronting Bruce, but Dick had shrugged him off as if it had been nothing – and it had been _everything_ to Jason.

Jason sighed, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest. He touched the boy's knee. "I'm sorry for hurting you, Dick."

"It's okay," Dick smiled softly.

"No, it's not."

"Okay, it's really not," Dick laughed, continuing, "I was just trying to make this easier for you, jeez."

Jason chuckled in amusement, but a large portion of Jason ached at the sight of it, because after today - if it worked – he would never see that small face light up like that again. He quietened down after a moment, the thought sobering him, and he suddenly - _desperately_ \- needed Dick to know, needed him to understand how sincere he was. "I'd never really hurt you, Dick. I swear."

Dick must have sensed how important this was to him, because he calmed down and said, "Do you promise?"

"Yeah, kid," Jason vowed, quiet and soft – sincere, "I promise."

Suddenly, the solemn tension in the air broke, because the kid's face quirked and Dick grinned mischievously. "In all seriousness?"

Jason laughed outright, but nodded solemnly. "In complete and utter seriousness, Dick."

Dick eyed him, and suddenly the situation was serious, because his eyes were focused and searching in a way Jason had never seen before, and all of a sudden, he felt overwhelmingly anxious, as if he knew that he wouldn't pass this test he hadn't studied for. But the boy eased up, smiling as his face relaxed. Jason felt like he had whiplash, but he mirrored the grin.

Zatanna called for them to begin, so he helped the boy lie back and buckled the padded restraints around the boy's wrists to the medical bed's railings. He let his hand pet the kid's hair tenderly, and Dick seemed to realise he needed this, because he stayed quiet. As did Jason.

 _("Why do we need the cuffs, Miss Zatanna? I thought it wasn't going to hurt that bad?" "It's just Zatanna, sweetheart, and it won't. You just have to be very still for the spell to work, and they ensure you will be." Jason hated how she was such a good liar, and how he was almost convinced it would be okay, himself.)_

He moved back to stand with the rest of the family while Zatanna stepped forward, standing to the side of the medical bed, about five feet away. Alfred spoke up before she began.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, quiet. The butler sounded far calmer than Jason felt. Jason felt like the ocean during a fierce storm, his stomach rolling and crashing like the dark, grey waves. Alfred sounded like he was talking about the weather, or a mildly displeasing meal. "I'll be upstairs."

Bruce nodded, and Alfred trailed up the stairs, shoulders hunched and hands rubbing nervously at the seam of his jacket. Jason watched him go, and suddenly wished he could follow.

But in that moment, Zatanna started chanting in a different language, raising her arms. It must have been something ancient, because Jason had never heard it before, and he didn't recognise it. Her voice had changed – no longer was it smooth like water over pebbles, but it was deep, and guttural like revving of a car engine. Jason saw Dick flinch at the sound of it, eying Zatanna warily, and he winced in sympathy.

Suddenly, white sparks edged with light blue shot from her fingertips, and he watched as Dick's eyes widened almost comically. The boy started struggling against his bindings, frantic, and his eyes flew around the room wildly before they landed on Jason, who stood, frozen in his spot. The kid's eyes lit up, and Dick gave him a look that was filled with pure optimism and faith that Jason nearly threw up.

" _Jason!_ " the boy shouted, pleading, his voice high and panicked. "Stop her! Please, Jason, help me!"

All of a sudden, a hand was on his arm, restraining him, and Jason eyes snapped to Tim, who shook his head quietly. Jason hadn't even realised he that had moved, and he was shocked to find himself already half-way across the room towards Dick. He stared at Tim, but for once, there was no malice or ill-intention on his face, and Jason could see how tight the man's jaw was clenched by the muscles that shifted in his cheek. His eyes were understanding, but pleading, and pained.

After a moment, he nodded jerkily and Tim released him hesitantly. But he didn't move away, and neither did Jason. If anything, they shifted closer, and Jason felt Tim's elbow brush his.

"Jason?" Dick called out incredulously, watching him as he stood there, unmoving. In response, the boy struggling harder, and the absolute betrayal on his young face felt like a bullet to Jason's abdomen. Why they hadn't gagged the kid was beyond him – this was tearing him apart, and Jason didn't know if he was referring to Dick or himself. "Please, help me! Jason, she's gonna _kill_ me!"

As if challenged, the sparks grew longer and higher, the magic-user's voice growing louder and deeper. The sparks were now highlighted by a swiftly rising, rumbling black shadow that grew behind Zatanna, and Dick whimpered helplessly at the sight of it.

" _What did I do?_ I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ -" Dick cried out hysterically, young and confused. He cut himself off with a scream as the sparks rose higher above his head, closer to him. The boy was gasping now, sobs of terror choking him, but he continued frantically, "I'll be good, Jay, I will. Just _, please!_ "

A thought seemed to come to the boy, and he pulled at his restraints harder. His face seemed to contort into something resembling hope once more, and he looked like he had found the upper hand, before he shouted, "You promised, Jay! _You promised_!"

\- and that was fucking _it_. He may not have completely treated the boy right in the past, especially the night before, but damn it all to _hell_ if he was going to let one of the last things he said to the kid be a lie.

 _"Zatanna, hurry the fuck up!_ " Jason shouted angrily, his burning eyes squeezed shut so tight that it hurt. He slammed his hands over his ears and pushed tight, his skull creaking at the force.

No matter how hard he tried to block his ears, it was hard to ignore the fact that Dick was now _screaming_. It was shrill, and filled with terror, and Jason suddenly couldn't hear anything but the sound of the tiny giggle that Dick would make when he was tickled before he would lose control and burst out into joyous laughter. It echoed in his head, and Jason couldn't stop himself from opening his eyes. He owed the boy that much.

The kid was writhing on the bed, trying to curl in on himself, and he was shaking so violently that it looked like an electric current was running through him. He was gasping now, short puffs of air escaping his lungs before they were ever truly his. Tears were gushing down the boy's face, and Jason found himself unable to _breathe._

With an agonized scream, Dick raised himself up on his heels and arched his back. Then he fell back down to slam onto the soft bed, and he started to _grow._ It was the freakiest thing Jason had ever seen, and he didn't protest Tim's sudden hand in his, gripping hard. If anything, he gripped back equally hard. They didn't mention it, their eyes transfixed on the sight before them.

Dick's limbs grew, and Jason knew that the sound of the boy's bones snapping and re-shaping would haunt his sleep for years. Jason didn't know why Dick hadn't passed out yet - or if he even _could_ \- but his screams were lowering in pitch and growing deeper as he aged. Jason placed the strangely familiar screams as those on the tape that Tim had given him on his boomer.

Jason wasn't sure how long it lasted, the whole process of growing could have been seconds or years, but all of a sudden, everything fell silent – both Dick and the sparks. The silence was still, and it seemed to hang in the air eerily, the tension filling and smothering those in the cave.

The sparks were still in the air, but they were frozen as lightening forks, and were rapidly turning a deep crimson red. Zatanna abruptly stopped chanting, and the sparks immediately shattered like they were made of glass, but fell like raindrops and vaporizing before they hit the ground.

Everyone seemed to be frozen for an agonising second. Then, each one of them moved with a speed Jason envied as he still stayed rooted to the spot. Tim let go of his hand and jogged towards a naked, unresponsive Dick, calling his name questioningly, but Damian just flew forward, weaving between his legs, and levered himself up onto Dick's medical bed, regardless of the fact that there was hardly any room for him anymore.

Jason blinked, and Bruce was suddenly at Dick's side, along with Zatanna, and Jason abruptly realised that he was losing time, and that his hands were still trembling. And he still couldn't _breathe_. The space around him was clear, everyone was gathered on the bed on the opposite of the room, but he felt strangely claustrophobic, and the air seemed stuffy and uncomfortably warm.

He turned and walked swiftly out the cave without a glance backwards. He thought he heard Bruce, or maybe Tim, call out his name, but there was a persistent buzzing in his ears that drowned out all other sound. The cave was big, vast, but it felt too small for him, and the ball of pure lead that was weighing down on his chest slowed him down to the point that he found himself using his hands to steady himself on the steps. He just had to _get out._

He was gasping by the time he reached the top of the stairs, and when he stepped out into the hallway, he met the startled eyes of Alfred. The butler stepped forward quickly, the expression on his face almost desperate. "Master Jason? What happened? Is Master Dick-?"

He cut himself off as Jason practically collapsed into the old man's arms, chest heaving and heart thudding painfully. Without hesitating, Alfred gathered the younger boy up into his arms and rubbed his back calmingly as Jason desperately tried to catch his breath.

It didn't feel the same hugging Alfred, but perhaps that was because he was taller, and older and bigger. The old butler had to reach up to wrap his arms around him now, and Jason had to bend down, his broad shoulders hunched over. Alfred shushed him, reaching up to scratch at his scalp, just like he used to, and it had been so long since Jason had felt that, been so long since he had been held with nothing but love and affection that he almost gave into the sobs welling up in his chest.

"He's fine, Alfred. It worked," Jason croaked, and he didn't even know why he was so choked up. "It worked perfectly."

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe that selfish part of him that wanted Dick to just be Richie had broken and died. It felt like something had cracked inside of his chest, and he couldn't understand how such a small boy could have made such a big impact on him.

After a moment, he shifted back, sniffing quietly. He met Alfred's eyes, and was startled to find tears sliding down the man's face. Concerned, he reached up and gently grasped the wrist of the wrinkled hand that was cupping his cheek. "Alfred?"

"Oh, you poor boy," the butler whispered, sorrowfully. The man's eyes roamed over his face, as if searching for something. He must have found it, because he closed his eyes, as if in pain. "You've been through so much. You've _lost_ so much. I'm so sorry, my boy. You really did love him. He was a son to you, wasn't he?"

Jason's eyes burned, but he nodded shakily after a moment of deliberation. Alfred smiled sadly, and whispered, pointedly, "Well, I know how that feels, don't I? I've got _you_."

The butler let go, shifting back. Jason immediately missed his warmth.

The old man wiped at cheeks, and cleared his throat, regaining his composure. He stuck out a hand, and said softly, "I hope to see you soon, Jason."

At that, Jason let out a burst of choked laughter, a breathy gasp, and Alfred chuckled lightly. The younger man leaned forward, batting away the offered hand and pecked the old butler on his aged cheek. "Thank you, Alfred."

He left.

* * *

Jason didn't know where to go – his safe-houses were compromised. He kept walking, mulling over his dilemma, when he idly reached into his pocket and his fingertips grazed the rough edge of a torn-off piece of newspaper. He smiled softly and fished out the phone he had stolen from the cave before he had left, pressing in the number on the paper and finding an address.

He walked slowly, taking his time, and he suddenly felt isolated and small, insignificant, as he wandered across the rooftops under the vast blanket of ebony, broken up by piece of shiny crystal white. He was suddenly at her door, and he didn't remember when he had started crying, but he could feel the tears running down his face, but he made no move to brush them away. He hadn't cried so far that night – he deserved to shed a few tears.

He let out the breath he had been holding when she answered his timid knock, the sobs rising from his throat making it hard to take in any more air. Jason couldn't remember the last time he had truly cried, and it felt like a dam had broken somewhere inside of him, and all he could do was rub pitifully at his aching eyes to clear his vision.

He would have been embarrassed if it had been anyone else, but it was just Betty Jean, and he had seen her at her worst, so he figured that she could cope with his. After a small gasp of dismay, she welcomed him with open arms and ushered him hastily into her humble home.


	8. Chapter 8

"I- I'm sorry, ma'am," Jason stuttered, breath hitching as he hesitantly toed his way into the tiny kitchen, his hands fiddling with the piece of newspaper with her hastily written number on it. He felt too large, too intrusive in the small doorway, so he hunched himself over to give the illusion of space. Betty Jean didn't seem to hear him as she scurried about, lifting books and old, dirty cups from the table to make room. He paused, and said, slightly louder, "I don't know if you-"

Betty Jean suddenly snapped upright, a deep scowl on her face that made Jason flinch slightly, uncontrollably, and he took a small step back, eyes wide. "You think I'm stupid, boy?"

"What?" he said, incredulously, before he shook himself. "I mean, n- _no_ , ma'am. It's just been a long time, a few months, and I thought maybe-"

Betty Jean cut him off. "Saving me like that?" she asked rhetorically. Then her voice softened around the edges, but it couldn't be swayed. "You're one hunk of muscle I _won't_ forget, believe me."

Jason felt his lips quirk up against his will, and he smiled bashfully. Betty Jean chuckled in amusement at the sight of it, and the sound was melodic, a gentle hum, which seemed to ease the tense, aching muscles of his hunched shoulders.

Betty Jean was plump, and had a noticeable arch that rounded her upper back, but it didn't seem to bother her. Her skin was as dark as forest wood, but it held no blemishes, no wrinkles, and it hid her age with grace. Her short, cropped hair, however, betrayed her guarded secret, as although it was deep ebony in the majority, the delicate ends curled silver-grey in the dim lights of her kitchen.

She wore a short-sleeved, royal blue dress that stretched down and swung around her ankles, as if it were dancing, and an apron of stop-light colours, red with yellow edges. It reminded Jason of the Robin suit, for some reason, and he suddenly found it hard to swallow.

Betty Jean smiled, and it radiated a kind of warmth that Jason wanted to bathe in. She raised her arms up and stepped forward. "Now, come here."

Jason didn't hesitate. He slumped into her awaiting arms, and all of sudden, he was emotionally exhausted. But despite how worn out he was, he felt his lip wobble precariously, and the muscles in his chin twitch like it would when he was child. His breath hitched, and Betty Jean shushed him. It reminded him of Alfred, and Jason felt his eyes start to burn.

There was no warning, and he clutched desperately at Betty Jean with clenched-white knuckles, as if she were the only with keeping him together, as sobs bubbled up his chest. He tried to stifle them at first, but Betty Jean seemed to realise what he was trying to do and shook him warningly, but her voice was quiet, and surprisingly - _horrifically_ \- understanding, when she said, "Let it out, darlin'. Just let it out."

So, he did. He had never learnt to cry with restraint or with style, so he cried with passion, ferocious and noisy. The floodgates had opened, the dam had collapsed, and suddenly he wasn't just mourning Dick - or Richie, or _whoever_ – but he was grieving his life in general, and the fact that the only person he felt he could go to was a woman who didn't even know his name.

He lost time, his body shaking and chest heaving, and he didn't know long it was until he abruptly felt drained, empty, but Betty Jean had held him in silence throughout it all, rocking him gently as his tears soaked her dress. He couldn't speak, his throat was too raw, and his bloodshot eyes hurt with overuse, so he just quietly pulled back, not meeting her eyes, and she let him go without a word.

"Now," she said quietly, unimposing. Her hand rested calmingly on his arm, and Jason didn't want her to ever take it away. "I apologize for the mess. You just park your pretty self on that seat there, and we can see about warmin' you up, hm? It's cold out."

Wandering over to the small, tucked-in table, Jason sat down heavily on the rickety stool, as if the entire world was resting on his shoulders. She turned away, but not before he saw her discreetly wipe at the corner of her own eyes, and all of a sudden, Jason felt like he was intruding. He hastily wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "I- I can leave, if you-"

"You'll do no such thing, young man," Betty Jean snapped, her hands falling from where she had been retrieving cups and saucers from the cupboard above her head and slamming down onto the counter. Jason froze from where he had partially risen from his seat, and shook herself, sighing deeply. She rubbed her forehead wearily. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted."

Jason hesitated, but sat back down warily. "Are you okay?"

"Now, now," she clucked, and she started moving once more. The kettle whistled a high and piercing scream and she grabbed at it, pouring the boiling water into the petit cups. She plucked a teabag from the jar and dropped it into the water. She turned, carrying a tray laden with tea, and there was no sign of her lost composure, and if there was, it was hidden behind a perfectly crafted, toothy grin. "This isn't about me."

"Now, you take this, stop your bawlin', and drink your tea," she scowled lightly. She set a cup in front of him, and when he eagerly reached for it, his hand practically engulfed the tiny dish. "What's your name, boy?"

"Jason, ma'am," he said, and his sharp eyes didn't miss the way her hands stuttered for a mere second, nor the way her smile faded slightly before she hastily plastered it back on her lips. But he didn't ask, and took a sip of the hot beverage.

It burnt his lip and the roof of his mouth as he swallowed, but he welcomed the sharp pain as a distraction. The tea was cheap, the teabag hardly flavouring the water, but Betty Jean had made the most the situation, a dollop of honey melting and infusing itself with the tea to give it a kick. It was sweet, too sweet for his liking, but for once, he found himself appreciating the sugary taste as it overpowered the bitter tang in his mouth.

"Enough with that 'madam' stuff, now," Betty Jean sniffed, chuckling, "You make me sound old."

Jason snorted around the rim of his cup. He watched, cross-eyed, as the exhaled air blew the liquid over to where it reflected off the wall of the cup, and rolled back towards him in a small tsunami.

"Why are you here, Jason?" Betty Jean asked after a moment of silence, and her voice is gentle, prodding, not sharp and biting. It had been so long since Jason had been around someone so soft, so tender, that he found himself smiling, even though he didn't particularly want to.

He shrugged his shoulders lightly. He responded, and his voice was carefully mild when he said apathetic, "I have no one to talk to."

"Oh, baby, that's sad," Betty Jean bemoaned, continuing, with a teasing lilt to her voice, "Almost as sad as me finding you blubberin' away on my doorstep."

Jason felt his cheeks heat. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking it out, and ducked his head to hide his sheepish grin. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"Don't be apologizing, boy," she chided, "And you should smile more, it suits you," and before Jason can splutter out anything in an attempt to calm his now flaming cheeks, she continued, sobering, "Now, what happened?"

"I lost someone."

It was choked, forced out, and his voice was whiskey-soaked, rough and grating. Although the words weren't exactly true, that's what it felt like, in the end. Dick, as Richie, had wormed his way into his life and he hadn't even attempted to stop the boy. He had practically flung wide open the doors, bypassed the tour, and taken him directly to where his heart was. The Red Hood had been rumoured to not have one, but he did, and that small boy had dug it up with his bare hands and raised it up, cradling it in his hands.

It would have been fine, but the boy had been snatched away, so cruelly, so quick, that Jason had had no time to prepare, had no time to save himself as he came crashing back to the ground. And the thing was, that if Bruce had figured it out, and had taken Dick from him by force, he wouldn't have hesitated – he would have torn the city apart to get the boy back. But the fact was that he had done this to himself, hand-delivered the kid to Bruce, and it made the situation so much harder to swallow, made him feel like he was choking down shattered glass.

He was drawn from his musings by a question, spoken soft and compassionate, understanding. "That little boy you've been runnin' with?"

Jason looked up, and Betty Jean scoffed. "Don't look at me like that, boy. I read the paper."

He paused. "Yes."

"Oh, baby," Betty Jean sighed sorrowfully, and she sounded so much like Alfred that Jason blinked. "I'm so sorry, darlin'."

He knew the normal response would have been to say ' _it's okay_ ', or ' _it's alright_ ', but it wasn't okay, and it wasn't alright, and Jason felt too hollow and empty to try to tuck away his own grief. Jason didn't know how people coped with anguish like this, and he wondered how long it would hurt like this.

"My son-," she stopped, and he had a feeling of where this was heading by her tone. He opened his mouth to stop her, because he could already hear the beginnings of a croak in her voice, could hear how wet her breath was becoming, but suddenly, for an elderly woman her age, she soared from her seat with such force that Jason snapped his mouth shut.

She beckoned him to follow her, so he did, and she shuffled into her sitting room. It was all carpet and floral patterns, faded wallpaper peeling from the corners of the walls and a faint scent of wet mould was suspended in the air. But despite it's obvious neglect, the room felt small and cosy, personalised by black and white pictures that dangled from loose nails and newer photos, bright and coloured, that held prize position on the dusty mantelpiece.

Betty Jean lifted one of the frames. "That's my boy, right there. Jasiah was his name."

Jason took note of the past tense, and leaned forward to look over her shoulder as she pointed down at the picture. A young man beamed into the camera from where he stood in a long line, his hands clasped in front of him. Beside him were young cadets, all rookies, and the proud gleam in Jasiah's eyes was hard to ignore as he stood straight, shoulders back, his blue uniform ironed and pristine.

Jason smiled softly. He remembered being that young, that hopeful and inspired. "He was a police officer?"

"Yeah, he was," she said, her voice was far away, "Was the top of his class. I broke down in tears when he told me, made me so proud," she paused, sucking in a wet breath, and Jason hesitantly took her hand, "He was so polite, such a gentleman…"

She trailed off with a deep, laboured sigh and Jason gently eased the frame out of her hands, placing it where it had been before. He led her to the settee and sat down. Betty Jean grabbed onto both of his hands and held them tightly. "You remind me of him, you know? That's why, earlier…"

"It's okay," Jason interrupted softly, saving her from explaining herself. He grimaced, and shifted in his seat.

Suddenly, she scoffed, and wiped roughly at her face, although no tears had fallen that Jason could see. "Look at me, weeping away. _You're_ the one that just lost someone, and here I am-"

"Don't, Betsy," Jason stopped her, sharp, but not unkind. He didn't know how that name had slipped out, but Betty Jean smiled at the sound of it. "You lost your son. Don't minimize that."

Betty Jean didn't reply for a moment, but she was eying him, searching his face, and Jason didn't have the energy nor the need to even try to stop her. Her lips quirked at the corners and she shook the hands in her grasp tightly in an attempt to emphasize her point. "You're a good man, Jason. A very good man. Don't let anyone tell you different."

He froze as she leaned up, and she planted a gentle, parental kiss on his forehead. Jason let his eyes slip shut, and let himself seek comfort in someone that he could almost imagine was his own mother.

* * *

It took a week. As each day passed, he steadily grew angrier, until by the end of the week, he was irate, and so furiously blistering that he had to have an outlet.

He hit the streets harder than he had in months, and hit those he stopped even harder. He didn't stop, couldn't stop, and five hour patrols turned into nine or ten hours, and by the end of each one, he felt drained and exhausted enough to slip relatively easily into unconsciousness. Not sleep – he didn't have the luxury.

He didn't give himself time to mourn, because nobody had died. Betty Jean's son had, but his hadn't. He had never had one at all, really. He berated himself, punished himself, because he had disillusioned himself into loving Dick's younger self like family - just because he had been so starved of anyone of significance in his life at the time that he had snatched up the first one that had come close.

He felt a presence behind him, and he snarled. He unclasped his helmet, and tugged it roughly off of his head, turning around. He was sweating profusely, worn out, muscles aching, and his hands clenched into fists at his side as he glared into the dark corner of the rooftop.

"You come here to gloat?" he called out sharply. His voice could have cut glass. The last word was bitten off, and it sounded like a taut wire that had just been plucked. His sentence was weaponised, armed, meant to hurt, and aimed for the kill.

Bruce deflected his tone as if it were nothing but a bothersome fly. The older man sighed heavily, and stepped from the shadows, his cape billowing behind him dramatically. "Even after all this time, you still think the worst of me."

Jason had no reply for that – it was too much to deal with, and he couldn't cope with Bruce's apologizes on top of everything else. He changed the subject. "What are you doing here?"

"You've been off, recently. I was worried," Bruce said gruffly, but there was enough honesty in his voice that led Jason to reluctantly believe him. The billionaire continued hesitantly, as if he knew he was overstepping a mark, "How are you?"

Jason scoffed. "How do you think?"

"You haven't been killing, recently," Bruce stated, and it wasn't in an accusing tone, like Jason had expected, but it was said with such bone-deep weariness that Jason found himself relating to. "Why did you stop?"

It wasn't spoken with sarcasm, or said with any bite, so Jason answered truthfully. "Dick didn't like it when I killed."

Jason remembered Dick's face, youthful and innocent. He remembered even clearly the look of utter terror on the boy's face that night they met, and knowing that part of that fear had been aimed towards him still made his chest ache.

"Jason, listen to me. I know what it's like to lose a son-"

" _Don't_."

Bruce seemed to realise that he was suddenly treading on paper-thin ice, and wisely snapped his mouth shut, staying quiet. Jason squeezed his eyes shut, and breathed deep, trying to quell the rising temper in his chest.

After a moment of hesitation, the billionaire started to turn away, and Jason calmed down enough to spare a moment to hate how stubborn they both were, to hate that Jason had probably learnt it from the older man himself. He growled, deep in his throat, and he didn't want to ask, he really didn't - but he had to.

Before he had realised his mouth was even open, he had asked, and the air around them lifted with fluttering wings, as if the whole posturing and mindless chatter centred around this one question. Both Jason and Bruce knew that it did, and by asking it out loud, the younger vigilante felt lighter than he had felt in a week.

"Does he even remember?"

Jason watched as Bruce froze, back turned and shoulders tense, and suddenly he didn't want to know. He didn't want to know, because he already knew what the answer was, and the heaviness that had lifted settled back into his chest comfortably, without a fuss. Jason suddenly felt very weary, and older than his years.

"No, he doesn't," Bruce said quietly. He was fully aware that his words were a force of destruction, tearing down false hope and ripping longing thoughts apart with no abandon, and Jason could hear it in his voice, how much Bruce hated this, hated this corner that he was backed into. "I'm sorry, Jason."

He nodded jerkily, and walked away without a word. He thought he heard Bruce call out his name, but he didn't care. He didn't care.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: warnings for Jason getting a bit dark, and one reference to suicidal thoughts**

* * *

Jason felt the wisp of hope he had been clinging to be snuffed out, and over the course of the following days, he felt himself, slowly but surely, shutter down. It was as if someone had switched out the light, and everything was suddenly dark, and nothing had rigid edges anymore – it was all shapeless entities and shades of grey. Deep down, something had cracked inside his chest, sonorous, and he felt overwhelmingly numb.

He was standing in the wake of his own self-inflicted devastation, and he felt so abruptly, impossibly alone that he found himself wondering where he had gone wrong, what he had done to deserve this life of his, this life of frustration and overwhelming desperation. He found himself thinking back, and eventually concluded that his life had succumbed to nothing – failure was all he had ever knew.

This was not a new revelation. Jason had put his mind to so many things that had ultimately fell through that he had lost count by now. But with Dick, it was so sudden, like he had run into a spider's cobweb. The more he struggled, the tighter the tendrils would constrict, and eventually he had resigned himself to hanging limply, held up by the sticky threads. But he had been moving his entire life, storming around so much that he had never had the time to stop and deal with everything. Now, he was still, forced to stop, and he couldn't escape the problems that had caught up with him, he couldn't ignore his issues that waved mockingly at him from beyond the web.

He had nightmares. Horrible things, of Dick screaming, and calling out his name, begging him to save him. Of the kid strapped down on the bed, and Jason watching himself as he tightened the restraints, watching himself as he walked away. It was lucid, and he screamed at himself as he watched with horror from afar as, suddenly, it wasn't Zatanna preforming the spell, but him. There he would be, arms raised and smiling with glee as Dick writhed on the bed, screaming.

And this time, the spell _wouldn't_ work. And Dick would scream, and scream, until he cried tears of blood, until the skin around the restraints were rubbed raw and the kid was practically wailing in pain. Jason would run forward, and it would feel like he was moving underwater. He would reach Dick, he would pull at the straps, but they wouldn't give.

And the boy would scream, plead and beg, until he would start to laugh. It wasn't funny, but the boy would laugh, and it was worse than the screams, because it was such a hollow cackle, and Jason couldn't stand there and watch as something that had meant so much to him be destroyed so thoroughly.

So, he would close his eyes. He didn't want to, he really didn't, but _every single time_ he had the dream, that's what he would do. He would squeeze his eyes shut and be a coward, be a fraud.

But some nights, he would have dreams. They consisted of Dick - they always did – and the boy would be _happy_ , sparring his Jason or running along rooftops by his side. Jason would wake up from those dreams, and his cheeks would hurt, because they had been stretched so far from when he had been smiling in his sleep. He would lay for a second, and then he would remember. He hated those dreams, because that, that _feeling_ , made them worse than the nightmares.

So, he didn't sleep. He knew it was a bad idea, but the images that came to him in his sleep was worse, so he didn't care. He grew tired, and wearier, and it often felt like he was running on an empty tank, just on fumes. The times where he wasn't fast enough or he slipped up grew in frequency, and his poor performance and increasingly shorter tempter just fuelled the rumours that the Red Hood's kid had died.

Which he didn't, but Jason couldn't tell anyone that, so his reputation plummeted, because no one cared about a kid fighting crime until they died. At least, that's what it felt like, because no one wanted to work with the Red Hood anymore, because it was his fault that a child had died. He wondered absentmindedly if that was what had happened to Bruce after he had died, after Robin had suddenly disappeared from the scene, but then he remembered that Bruce had had a back-up plan, and a steady supply of black haired boys to replace him.

Red Hood had fallen from grace, hitting every branch on the way down. He was too worn out, jaded, to try and save his stature as top dog, so he didn't bother. The thing was, Jason couldn't even argue with those that said it was his fault, because he agreed wholeheartedly.

But just because everyone said that he had lost his touch, didn't mean he had. Which meant he was irritated, and strangely offended, when he sensed someone tailing him. It never worked, so he didn't know why they bothered to stick to the shadows in an attempt to follow him, but he obliged his audience anyway, heading to a clear rooftop where they could talk.

"I'd be insulted if I could bring myself to care, Tim," he called out, yanking off his helmet and spinning on his heel to face the younger man. "Why-?"

Jason froze. He stopped, cut himself off, because that wasn't Tim, and he very nearly choked on his own tongue. Peeling himself from the shadows, Nightwing slowly stored his escrima sticks in his back holster and held his hands up calmly. He quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm not Tim. Surely you remember me, little wing?"

"Don't call me that," Jason snapped, but it was half-hearted. He stared, eyes wide, at the man that he hadn't seen up close in years, but had cared for months for.

He was lithe, but had surprisingly broad shoulders for his smaller build. His hair was longer than Jason's own, but it was shorter than Richie's hair, which seemed to be only thing his mind could compare him to. Every movement, every word, was compared to Richie, and Jason hated how much he could see the similarities, could see how that small boy had grown into this young man, but he hated even more how his chest felt lighter at the sight of the older vigilante because of it.

Dick smirked, his lips twitching, and Jason also hated how well he could read that smile, how he could tell that the older man wasn't sneering at him, but merely amused. Dick dropped his hands, letting them swing by his side, and sauntered forward. "Why? I thought it suited you, to be honest."

All that ran through his head was the reminder that the older man didn't remember, didn't remember anything, and he breathed deeply, in through the nose and out through the mouth. But it didn't matter, it didn't work, because the rage that had sat dormant for a week, since Bruce had told him, surged to the surface and flooded through his veins so quickly that Jason felt light-headed.

"What are you doing here, Dick?" he said quietly, but his voice was a tightly coiled spring, tense and restrained.

"Well, I was in the neighbourhood, and I happened to see some of your work tonight. The robbery down Bradbury Street?" he asked idly, continuing, "Sloppy work, I must say. I think-"

\- and Jason fucking _snapped_.

He rushed at the man with a cry, but Dick was prepared, and seemed to be waiting for him. He shifted to the side, and shoved Jason as he flew under the man's arm. He stumbled forward a few steps, but Jason didn't let that deter him as he quickly turned and slammed his shoulder into the older man's chest. It made Dick step back, grunting, but he didn't pull out his escrima sticks, like Jason had expected.

Instead, the man raised his hands and snapped out a fist. It caught Jason in the face, full on, and he winced as he suddenly felt something wet trickle down his face, originating from his nose. But he didn't feel it, as the pain was numbed by the absolute rage in his bloodstream, and he snarled, animalistic.

There was something ringing at the back of his head, telling him that Dick didn't know, that it wasn't Dick's fault, but something inside of him couldn't process that, or didn't want to. He had been so helplessly angry for weeks now, had nothing to take it out on, and nothing had triggered him until Dick himself had shown up – and Jason couldn't do it, he couldn't pretend that he didn't care anymore. Because he did, _desperately_.

He deflected Dick's next hit and landed a sharp blow himself to the older man's chin. His head flew back, and Dick stumbled back as he was knocked off balance. Jason took advantage and twisted, lifting his leg up high. He snapped his foot hard into Dick's solar plexus and the man hit the ground with a deep thud.

Dick wheezed as his diaphragm contracted uncontrollably, his lungs desperately trying to heave in the air he needed. Jason didn't give him the chance to catch his breath, because he sat down heavily on Dick's abdomen and started lashing out with closed fists. He hit the man wherever he could reach, not caring. He merely wanted the thudding of his heart and sharp pain in his head to stop.

He lost track of how long he struck out at Dick, but he gradually realised that the man wasn't struggling, wasn't fighting back, and was saying something that Jason couldn't hear over the roaring in his own head. He slowed his punches, eventually stopping, and for some reason, he was breathing faster and heavier than he had any need to, but he could now hear the older man beneath him.

"It's okay, Jason," Dick breathed, lips quirked, and Jason must have aimed for his upper chest and shoulders as his face was practically unharmed. "It's alright."

Jason snarled, and pushed off of him. "It's not okay, Dick."

He watched as the man grunted, rolling to onto his side, and the older man slowly eased his way onto his feet. Once standing, he groaned and spat out blood onto the rooftop. Jason watched impassively as it hit the ground, but he felt his hands shaking at his side and he shifted almost nervously.

"Okay, it's really not," Dick snorted, smiling toothily despite everything, and his teeth were coated with a layer of blood that made Jason feel slightly queasy to see. The older man looked back at him with strangely sharp eyes, and Jason tensed as the man pointedly said, "I was just trying to make this easier for you, jeez."

Jason felt his heart stutter, and his eyes widened. At the sight of his shock, Dick chuckled in amusement, looking down and rubbing at his chest idly. Jason stumbled forward a few, small steps, but it felt like the floor had been wiped out from beneath him. He stuttered, "Y- You _remember_?"

Dick seemed to realise how much this meant to him, because the older man sobered and nodded solemnly. "Yes."

Thoroughly confused, and slightly agitated, Jason threw up his hands and gestured to the ground. "Then what was all that?"

"It looked like you needed to let off some steam."

"Not by beating you up!"

Before Jason could even begin to berate the man about his apparent death wish, Dick spoke up quickly. "I know you, Jay, better than I have in years," he said, voice hard with conviction. He sighed heavily, before continuing, "I didn't treat you right before you died, before the Pit. I didn't look out for you, I didn't care for you. That's something I'll have to live with, but it doesn't mean that I can't try and make up for it now."

Jason scoffed. "That's not what I would call caring."

"Would you have let me hug you?" Dick snorted, and Jason couldn't disagree, so he stayed quiet. The older man crossed his arms with a deep sigh. "When I came to, after the spell, I couldn't move for a few days. My body hurt every time I tried to blink - never mind walk."

"How come that didn't happen when you were changed into a kid?"

"It did," Dick answered, "Zatanna said my smaller body and younger mind couldn't deal with the pain, so I was unconscious for a few days."

"How do you-?"

"I remember freaking out about when I woke up on the 21st," he paused, shaking his head, and continued, explaining, "I went out on patrol on the 18th."

"But why didn't the meta just – I don't know – kill you, or something?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm here," Dick said, then he smiled, and Jason couldn't get past how much his grin had not changed in nearly twenty years. The older man winked, and offered, "Do you want to come with me and find out?"

"Oh, no," Jason snorted and he shook his head angrily. He snapped, "You don't get to do that. You let me think that you didn't remember for two _weeks_."

"I didn't, not at first," Dick placated softly, and raised his hands calmly in the face of Jason's temper, "The first thing Bruce asked me when I woke up was if I remembered, and I didn't. I was telling the truth."

"But?"

"Over time," the older man paused, then sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "- things started trickling back to me, and I started remembering," he suddenly snorted, shaking his head in dark amusement, "It wasn't until I saw my own, skinny, nine-year-old ass in the paper that it all came flooding back."

Jason shifted, and eyed the man opposite him. He didn't want to ask, he really didn't, but he had to – for his own peace of mind. "When? When did you remember everything?"

"About a week ago."

A week. Dick had known for a week, and he had sat on his thumbs, doing nothing, as Jason had eyed rooftop edges as an appealable option. Jason felt his heart begin to thud so hard that it hurt, and the sludge clogging his veins started burning red-hot. He let out a sharp burst of laughter, but it short and mocking, grating on the ears. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"This whole thing was difficult for me too, Jason."

"You don't know what it was like for me, Dick," Jason snapped, and that was too much, he had said too much. His voice cracked half-way through the sentence and he was hoarse in a way that hadn't been there a second ago. "That's bullshit-"

"Jason, I've been through that period of my life twice now, and the first time was rough enough losing my parents. You know what that's like," he hesitated, sucking in a wet breath, "But can you imagine what it's like to go through it all again, and lose _another_ one?"

The rage building in Jason folded like a house of cards.

" _Fuck_ , Jason. Don't you see? Those months with you as a kid were the best I had in a long time," Dick admitted quietly. He paused, then added, in that soft, understanding tone of his, "And I'm willing to bet it was the same for you."

He spun around quickly and turned his back on the other man, not wanting Dick to see the expression on his face. He was exhausted, and emotionally drained, and he knew that his poker face wasn't up to scratch. He looked down at the street. The streetlights below him winked slyly up at him, and Jason was startled to feel his eyes stinging sharply. He hissed, although he was angrier at himself. "Fuck you, Grayson."

"I know that you're angry," Dick agreed. Jason snorted. "- and you have every reason to be, so I'll leave. Just remember this – you're a good person, Jason."

Of everything the boy wonder could have said to him, that wasn't even near the top of the list - barely making the list, even. Jason raised his head slowly, but froze, startled, as a tentative hand settled on his shoulder. He hadn't even heard the older man approach.

"I was a kid, and you helped me," Dick said quietly, and Jason wasn't looking at him, but he didn't need to, because he could hear how his expression looked, could hear the soft smile in his voice. "Not many people would have done what you did."

Jason shrugged off the hand on his shoulder. He didn't say a word.

Instead of being offended, Dick brushed it off and snorted in amusement. Silence fell like a blanket of snow and settled between them, surprisingly companionable. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair, but Jason didn't let it distract him as he kept his eyes on the puddle that swamped the road.

He felt something inside of him shift and click into place, and he could suddenly breathe easier than he had in a long time. Knowing that Dick remembered, knowing that Dick felt as strongly as he did, eased something in him that had been hurting. He didn't feel completely better, far from it, but he felt lighter and younger at the knowledge.

After a moment, he felt the older man brush his side as he shifted away from him, and heard the crunch of gravel underfoot as he walked away. Jason's mouth opened of its own accord. "Do you want me to help you find the meta?"

The gravel scraped as Dick stopped, and the face of a beaming kid flashed in Jason's mind as he heard the now older man chuckle lightly. "I would really like it if you did, Jay."

After a while, he nodded, as if he were agreeing, but Jason had made his decision on the matter when Dick had asked him in the first place. But even with his answer, Dick didn't move, seemingly waiting for something, and Jason relaxed, knowing that someone knew him better than he himself did. The words rose up his throat like bile, and it burned in the same way.

"I'm sorry that I didn't keep my promise."

"You did, Jason. I was a kid that was in pain, and I just wanted it to stop-"

"I don't mean that," Jason cut him off, sharp and biting because he was misunderstood, and it meant that he had to explain himself. But he lost his driving force, lost his confidence, and hesitated. Dick waited patiently. After a quiet moment, he cleared his throat, but his voice was still gruff. "I mean, now. Earlier."

"Oh, that?" the older man scoffed, "That didn't hurt. It felt like you were tickling me, really."

Jason's lips twitched.


	10. Chapter 10

Without Dick - as the only witness – a picture of the meta, or even some sort of speech to run voice recognition on from the recording, Bruce had come to a slump pretty early on in his investigation after his eldest son had gone missing. The billionaire, surprisingly, gave them all of the information he had been able to gather – or, rather, all the information _Barbara_ had, who had been going out of her mind to find her friend, or boyfriend - or _whatever_.

Admittedly, the amount of information they had on the meta was despairingly low. Barbara had tried her best, scouring through traffic camera footage for hours, apparently. But Nightwing had followed the meta from the rooftops, far above the cameras, so she could see plenty of people, but had no idea who Dick had been tailing.

All of Batman's tools and minions couldn't find the meta, but all of Bruce's good intentions and worried-father routines were in no comparison to the determination and conviction of a wronged Jason Todd.

"It feels good to be out with you again," Dick huffed as he swung between the rooftops, adding, "If I'm now slightly taller."

"But I'm still taller," Jason scoffed, before he can stop himself. He didn't know why he was suddenly engaging in some light-hearted, childish banter with Dick, but he reluctantly admitted, to himself, that it felt good, easy.

"You know, I won't suddenly forget that if you fail to remind me," Dick sighed, and Jason can't help the small smirk that graced his lips at the sound of the petulant tone.

Jason doesn't want to respond, and the silence that settled between the two was soft, and comfortable enough that he didn't need to. They were headed towards the place Dick remembered waking up as a child.

Jason couldn't recall the last time he had been in Blüdhaven, but he remembered why he never bothered to come back as he swung over the littered streets. The air above the city was grey, and gloomy, and Jason felt the atmosphere cling to his skin as they entered the city, but it must have been all in his head, because Dick moved just like he did when in Gotham, unchanged in his approach.

Dick suddenly dropped, and Jason quickly pulled his line, skidding on the rooftop as he came to a stop. He glared down at the street where Dick was waving up at him, and even the distance between them couldn't prevent Jason from seeing the older man's blinding, mocking grin.

With a growl, he dropped down to the street beside him. Safely shrouded from prying eyes in the shadows of the streetlights, he punched the smaller man on the upper arm. "You always did that as a kid, too. Used to scare the shit out of me."

"'Used to'?" Dick repeated, tongue in cheek, but he darted way before Jason could land a harder, more lasting punch.

Wondering why he had ever agreed to helping the man, he grudgingly followed Dick where he had slipped through an old, rusted, metal door. The room was empty when he entered, and he felt his forehead tighten as he inched forward with a gun held loosely in his hand.

"Nightwing?" he hissed through his teeth, eyeing his surroundings warily.

"Over here, Hood."

Tracking the man's call to where he stood, Jason prepared to let rip on him. He knew that Dick was far from reckless, not when it mattered, and the man could take care of himself, but the last time he had worked with someone, it was a kid, and that feeling of wariness and protectiveness was hard to overcome – especially when he saw so much of that kid in the man next to him.

But Jason didn't start, because as he rounded the corner, he realised why Dick had his escrima sticks out, and why he was standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, ready to attack. His gun was up and aimed at their opponent's eye before he had even had a chance to think.

His skin was dark and coarse, like freshly-turned earth, or newly-ground coffee beans. He had broad shoulders that strained the material of his blue shirt, and they tapered down to his slender waist, ending with bulging, muscular calves that practically screamed athleticism. His face was wide, with whisky-coloured eyes that reflected the light, and his lips held a dirty scowl, but, to Jason, he seemed apprehensive, and hesitant.

At the sight of him, Jason froze. His eyes widened, and he slowly lowered his weapon. He couldn't stop himself from breathing, "Fuck."

He must not have been as quiet as he thought he had been, because he saw Nightwing eyeing him out of the corner of his eye, still faced towards the enemy. "Hood?"

But Jason couldn't speak, because there wasn't enough air, and it felt like the world had flipped itself over without knowledge. He gulped, swallowing around the lump in his throat, and hit Dick lightly on his arm, catching his full attention. "I know him."

"In all seriousness?" Dick asked, but it was said without the usual underlying tone of humour, and without his usual teasing. He was solemn, and tense.

Jason couldn't bring himself to laugh, because he felt vaguely sick. He didn't answer, and he stepped forward with his hands up peacefully. He easily slipped out of Dick's reach as the older man grabbed at him, trying to stop him, and ignored his loud protests. He stepped forward, maintaining eye contact, but stopped when the other man's breathing suddenly grew heavy and laboured, strained.

" _Jasiah?_ "

The man seemed startled at his name being called, and Jason watched as his muscles bunched up, tensing. Jason felt Dick shift behind him in preparation, but nobody moved, and Jasiah didn't speak. The tension in the air was palpable.

"Hood, that's him. That's the guy," Dick said, and when Jason turned to look at him, his brow was furrowed, and he seemed nervous, apprehensive. Jason remembered the pain of the age-reversal, and couldn't blame the man for being anxious in the face of the cause of it.

Jasiah shifted where he stood, and although his words were meant to be biting, they came out with a vague undertone of relief. "I see that you're big again."

Dick scoffed. "No thanks to you," he paused, then asked, "Why did you do it?"

"You were following me. I had to do something."

"By turning me into a child?" Dick asked, incredulous.

Jason tensed as Jasiah growled low in his throat, but he seemed more frustrated at not being understood than threatening. "I didn't want to kill _you_. I only wanted to kill Nightwing."

"Why?"

"No one can find out who I am."

Dick nodded towards Jason. "Too late, apparently."

That got Jasiah moving. As if reminded, Jasiah's eyes flicked over to Jason, before coming to rest on Dick once more, this time with a look in his eye that made Jason raise his gun swiftly. But he was too late, because sparks flared from Jasiah's fingertips and turned solid, like a coiled rope. Dick cursed, but had no time to move as the crimson rope snapped out and wrapped itself around his neck.

Jason didn't pause. He pulled the trigger, and watched as another tendril shot from Jasiah's hands to deflect the bullet and rip the gun from his hands. Growling, he snatched up Dick's escrima sticks that he had dropped and started forward but stopped when Jasiah spoke.

"You take one step closer and I'll snap his neck."

Jason stopped dead in his tracks, because he was inclined to believe him. Dick was off the ground, lifted by his neck. His hands scratched desperately, uselessly, at the rope around his neck as his feet kicked out wildly. Jason felt sick at the sight. He held up his hands peacefully, but his eyes were narrowed in anger to the point where he could barely see, and he could see his hands were shaking.

"How do you know my name?" Jasiah asked, calm, but demanding.

Jason didn't answer him. "Let him go, Jasiah."

"Only if you tell me-"

" _Let him go_."

At the low, snarled shout, Jasiah paused. Jason could see the other man, could see how he had only lashed out in desperation, like an injured animal crowded into a corner, but it didn't make a difference, because he could also hear Dick, and how he was choking, his legs losing their energy as his vision blinkered black. Jason felt for the other man, he really did, he knew what it was like to have nowhere to go, but Dick was his first priority.

Recognising that he had a window of opportunity, he pushed. "Jasiah, please. Let him go, and we can talk."

After a moment of Jasiah eyeing him, the other man nodded. He brought Dick back to the floor, and loosened his grip around the man's neck, but didn't let go. Dick didn't seem to care, and Jason winced as the older man sucked in a painful-sounding breath, wheezing and coughing, rasping.

Jason relaxed slightly, and reached out towards Dick, but before he could touch him, a current ran from Jasiah's hand to Dick's neck, and the older vigilante tensed, before he began to seize. It was as if he were a live wire, snapping and jerking due to an electric current. Then, the rope retreated from around his neck, and he fell to the ground, lifeless.

It had only been a matter of seconds, but, to Jason, it had been an age as he had watched with dawning horror. He skidded to Dick's side and rolled the older man over, hands fluttering around his body before he snapped back to his training, checking his pulse – which was, thankfully, there, and strong.

Jason had never felt such rage in his entire life. He reached into his boot and pulled out the small pistol he hid in there, and stood, placing himself in front of Dick and facing Jasiah, who was watching back impassively. If Jason had been looking, he would have seen the remorseful look, or the hesitant glint in his eyes. But Jason didn't care, Dick was lying at his feet, and he didn't see the regretful look on the other man's face.

"What did you do to him?" Jason snarled, sharp and biting as he trained his pistol on the other man.

"I just knocked him out, I swear," Jasiah said, and this time, he was the one to raise his hands peacefully. It was all show, because Jason knew that a gun would have no effect - Jasiah could protect himself from a few pesky bullets - but he felt better gripping a gun than standing there with nothing.

"Why?" Jason snapped.

"This is a conversation between us, and us only," Jasiah said calmly, and when Jason didn't respond, he continued, repeating, "How do you know my name?"

Jason found no point in lying. "Your mother, Betty Jean."

Jason watched as Jasiah froze. The other man lowered his hands, eyes wide and wondering. He cleared his throat, as if choked up, looking at his feet, and shook his head. He looked back up, and smiled thinly, hesitantly. "How is she?"

Jason scoffed, lowering his pistol slowly. "Like you care."

"I do -"

Jason snapped. "She thinks you're dead, Jasiah!"

"It's better for her!" Jasiah suddenly shouted, and Jason could see how he was trying to convince himself, as well as the vigilante. He continued, softer, "It'll be easier for her."

"How can you say that?" Jason asked incredulously. He shook his head. "You haven't seen her. She misses you so much, she can't-"

"Look at me," Jasiah said, and he didn't shout this time, but he cut off Jason as if he had. Jason couldn't help himself from being startled by the self-loathing, and the pleading tone in the quiet words. "I can't let her see me like this."

So, Jasiah's meta-abilities hadn't developed until now, and something had obviously happened to make them occur in this way. Jason found himself softening slightly, and he asked quietly, "Why? How did it happen?"

"It doesn't matter-"

Jason cut him off. "It does. I can help you."

"Why?" Jasiah scoffed, "Because you're the Red Hood?

"Because I have contacts," Jason said. It wasn't exactly true, his contacts with the Justice League had been thoroughly terminated when he had returned from the dead, guns blazing, but he knew Bruce, and hopefully that would suffice. "Contacts that can help you to control your powers."

Jasiah paused, and Jason sighed internally as he saw the hesitant look on his face. But, to his surprise, Jasiah just said, "Okay."

"Really?"

"Yes," Jasiah confirmed, then he said, "But you can't tell ma."

Jason immediately shook his head. "What? Jasiah, no, you have to tell her-"

"No."

"Why not?"

Jasiah snapped, shouting, "Because she'll blame herself, alright?"

His words echoed in the small space, and eventually settled between them uncomfortably. Jason didn't say anything, but he raised his eyebrows, uncomprehending but inviting understanding. At the sight of his expectant expression, Jasiah shook his head.

"My dad, he used to be in the criminal business," he started, quiet, his eyes fixed on the floor, "Little jobs – B&Es, robberies, that kind of thing. He never got caught, so he got cocky, went bigger and he eventually made a name for himself," Jasiah sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face, continuing quietly, "So much so, that the Joker caught wind of him."

Jason froze.

Not seeing Jason's suddenly rigid stature, Jasiah went on. "The Joker roped him into his master plan, and he left us, joined that madman's army of minions, and hundreds of people died because of him – all because of the Joker, but my dad was a part of it."

Whenever the Joker was brought up, how he had ruined people's lives, or ended them, Jason felt a weight in his chest sink lower, and grow heavier. So many lives – _too_ many.

A thought dawned on Jason, through the fog in his head, and he nodded his head slightly, finally understanding. "That's why you became a cop."

"Yes," Jasiah said, repeating, "I can't let my ma see me like this."

"Why not?" Jason asked.

"Because she'll blame herself," Jasiah said, almost pleading, begging Jason to understand, "She already blames herself for da – we needed the money, we were broke, so she pushed him to aim bigger and he got too sucked in because of it."

Jason knew what that felt like, what that desperation and hopelessness felt like, knowing that there wasn't enough money to last to the end of the week. He knew what that feeling made people do, he knew what that feeling made people capable of.

Jasiah continued, quieter. "I can't let ma see me like this, because she didn't want me to turn out like he did, so _she_ was the one that wanted me to become a cop, and if I wasn't a cop, I wouldn't have been there that night, the night that this happened to me."

He let a few sparks fly from his fingertips to prove his point. He looked up, and caught Jason's eye. "She'll blame herself, and I can't let that happen."

After a moment, Jason nodded quietly. "Okay, Jasiah."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, I'll leave you alone, but I'm gonna get you help, alright?" Jason said, and it was suddenly imperative to him that Jasiah knew how not alone he was, important for Jasiah to know that Jason understood him, that Jason would help him. "I swear to you, Jasiah. You'll see Betty Jean again."

For a moment, Jasiah looked like he was about to cry, his eyes welling up and the fact that he was sniffing tellingly. But the other man just conjured up a shaky smile, and he nodded. "Thank you, Hood."

Suddenly, Jason's mouth was open, and he spoke. He hadn't been planning to, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he couldn't bring himself to regret it as he watched Jasiah's face brighten slightly. "I've been where you are, Jasiah."

"Really?"

"Perhaps not in the exact same way," Jason said quietly, hesitantly. He grimaced, continuing, "But I know what it's like to feel like you can't return home."

Jasiah eyed him, but didn't press the issue, didn't ask. But he shifted, and after a moment, asked softly, uncertain, "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Return home?" he clarified.

For some reason, Jason's eyes were immediately drawn to Dick, who was drooling slightly. He grinned unwillingly at the sight, and he could feel his own gaze softening as he eyed the unconscious man. Silence settled between them, but it was suddenly broken by his soft admission, almost whispered.

"Yeah, I did."


	11. Chapter 11

Jason rang the doorbell. He stuck his hands in his pockets and paced along the porch, humming idly as he waited impatiently.

The vigilante knew what other people thought family was about, had seen it expressed on TV many times, an over-worked story now worn out and meaningless. Jason could list it off - family was about helping each other grow as a person, it was about sacrifice, and putting another person's wellbeing in front of your own. It was about give and take.

Without knowing it, Jason had fallen into the system. He had sacrificed his own feelings, his own wishes, and he had given Dick to Bruce when he had been kid, because Jason knew that it would be better for him. Jason had given Dick, and in return, Bruce had given him space, time to deal, time to get over the situation instead of hounding him as usual, demanding answers.

This time, he was the one looking answers. He was a lot less agitated and calmer than he had been when he had last been on this porch, but he couldn't help himself from snapping his head up sharply when the door creaked open. At the sight that greeted him, he snorted, and shook his head.

"You know you have a butler to do this sort of thing?"

Bruce smiled in amusement, although there was a look in his eye that Jason couldn't quite identify. Never one to be beaten, Bruce pulled the words straight out of his mouth. "We need to talk."

"You know," Jason started as he pushed passed the billionaire, "Most people just go ahead and say what they want to say instead of being all dramatic," he mockingly lowered his voice into a growl, imitating Bruce, "' _We need to talk_ '."

"I wear a cape, Jason," Bruce sighed lightly, and there was a teasing tilt to his smirk, "Don't you think that's more dramatic than this?"

"Well, at least you're not in denial."

Bruce snorted, and Jason found himself grinning, regardless. It was almost too easy to slip into their old ways, in between arguments and shouting matches, when it was just light-hearted humour and the odd jab at the other's expense. It was far too easy, and Jason smothered his smile because he knew that it shouldn't be, and no matter how exhausted he was hating Bruce, he couldn't bring himself to entirely forgive the man. There was too much between them.

The billionaire sobered in response, and led him into the parlour. Jason couldn't help the sense of déjà vu that slithered up his spine, so he sat when Bruce offered him a seat, because he hadn't when he had last been in here, and he needed some sort of detachment from then and now.

The older man sat down opposite him on the settee, sinking into the cushions, and reached over the table to pour two glasses of drink from a flask that he had produced out of nowhere. Jason snatched his glass up before Bruce had even finished pouring his own. He knocked back the amber liquid, and revelled in the burn of the alcohol as it went down his throat.

"I took Dick out to a bar when he turned twenty-one for his first official drink," Bruce said out of nowhere, and when Jason looked up, the man's brows were furrowed, and if he had to guess, the glint in his eyes was one of remorse, and guilt, "I had planned to do the same with you."

Jason didn't say anything.

"- but I never got the chance."

Jason slammed his glass back onto the table. "What do you want, Bruce?"

The billionaire sighed heavily, and set down his own drink, not having taken a sip. He scrubbed a hand over his face wearily, and Jason could suddenly see the slouch in his shoulders, and the lines in his face that he couldn't remember being there when he had been younger.

Bruce pursed his lips, and hesitantly asked, as if he was toeing the line to see if they were on the same page, "Do you know why I didn't just take him when I worked out who he was?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jason scoffed. He didn't pretend that he didn't know who Bruce was talking about. He rolled his eyes in exasperation and sat back in his seat, sprawling out, but he knew that Bruce would notice his tense muscles, and the quiet alertness that betrayed his relaxed posture. He finished mockingly, "Because I seemed _happy_."

"That, but it was also because I trusted you," Bruce said quietly, shaking his head, "You were so caught up in that boy that you wouldn't have believed me if I told you who he was. I couldn't just take him, so I left him – with you. This small, vulnerable kid that I see as my own son, and I left him with you, Jason."

Jason couldn't deal with the implications of that pointed statement, so he quickly asked, "Why didn't you tell him what happened when he woke up? After Dick was an adult?"

If Bruce was surprised at the quick change in subject, he didn't show it. If anything, he seemed like he had expected it. "Because I've realised that I can't interfere with anything to do with you."

"What does that even mean?"

"No matter what I do, no matter what I say, it's always the wrong thing. I'm sick and tired of being on bad terms with you, Jason, but I've finally realised that I can't force that. Now, I'm sorry - _I am_ \- but I can't make you forgive me. Nor do I want to," Bruce sighed, "I'll leave you alone, because I know that's what you've always wanted."

At that, Jason felt very small, and a lot younger than what he actually was. He was still angry, and it blistered under his skin with its ferocity, but the feeling felt hollow, empty, as if he was so worn out that his rage was only trying to fester half-heartedly. It was as if he had been angry for so long, that it had become his default reaction to anything the billionaire said.

If he were to admit to himself, Jason knew that the reason his anger wasn't rising to the surface as quickly as it used to was because of Jasiah. That man couldn't bring himself to get back in contact with Betty Jean, his own _mother,_ because he loved her that much, and didn't want her to see him in the state that he was in.

Jasiah had a reason, and so had Jason, but the vigilante found his own paling rapidly in comparison to the other man. There was nothing current that was holding Jason back, and, although he would never feel the same love for Bruce, not after everything that had happened, who was he to stand in the way of something that could help them both heal?

Jason wasn't about to let bygones be bygones, but recently, things had been put into perceptive for him, and Jason couldn't force himself to hold a grudge against the older man – not when his words and pained expression reminded him so much of Betty Jean.

Dick – as Richie – had taught him what being a father should be like, and Jasiah had shown him what being a son looked like. Jason didn't know if he was good at being either, but he found himself willing to try the latter.

"Bruce?"

The billionaire paused. "Yes, Jason?"

It hurt to say it, but he felt compelled to. It felt like if he didn't say it, the conversation would never be completely finished.

"If Dick taught me one thing, it was what a good son looked like," he said, but his voice was quiet and slightly forced, cracking with effort. He paused, refusing to meet Bruce's suddenly focused gaze, "And I know that I was never that for you, before the Pit."

"If we're going to be on good terms now, don't go thinking that I won't still call you out when you're wrong," Bruce said pointedly. There was an anger and intensity behind his words that Jason found himself taken aback by.

Involuntarily, he felt his lips twitch. "And is this one of those times?"

"Most definitely."

Before Jason could even think of a reply to that, they were interrupted. He usually would have been irritated by that, but his mouth had dried up, for some reason, and his cheeks hurt from the grin he was attempting to smother. By the look on Bruce's face, and the mirrored, beaming smile, he wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"Father," Damian addressed as he stormed into the room, and Jason chuckled as the furious boy immediately glared at the billionaire. "Drake says that Grayson went out last night. He still isn't well, and you shouldn't have-"

Damian glanced around the room briefly, and Jason met the gaze of the younger boy. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk quirking his lips. At the sight of him, Damian scowled and with furrowed brows, turned on Bruce once more, who was eying his son impassively, but Jason had known him long enough to see the amused gleam in his eyes.

"He's a grown man, Damian. Dick can make his own decisions-"

"What is Todd doing here?" Damian snapped, forgoing his first line of questioning as he folded his arms across his chest tightly.

"Attending breakfast, I hope," Bruce said, and he turned to Jason expectantly, who nodded quietly.

Eyes flicking between them both, Damian huffed and left the room. Jason watched him leave, rolling his eyes, and stood to follow him. Bruce followed his lead, but stopped him with a hand on his arm. This time, Jason didn't feel the need to brush it off.

"How is Jasiah?" Bruce asked knowingly. Jason snapped his eyes to the older man's face, but his expression was more playful and amused than accusatory. He relaxed minutely.

He snorted, and shook his head. Incredulously, wearily, he asked, "Do you ever get tired of going all _Big Brother_?"

"Never," Bruce smirked. Jason shook his head in exasperation, and headed towards the kitchen, Bruce tailing him. The billionaire continued, quietly, "I'll get him in touch with Barry."

Jason nodded his head in gratitude.

They entered the room together. Jason always forgot how big the kitchen was in the manor. It had a high, spacious ceiling and tiled floor which, in theory, should have meant that the room would be constantly cold, but somehow, Alfred kept the kitchen warm, and comfortable. It was easily Jason's favourite room in the whole manor.

He scanned the room. Damian and Tim sat at the island, eating breakfast, while Alfred pottered about, and Dick, who was at the opposite side of the room, eyed him over the rim of his mug. The older man gave a small wave, but stayed quiet.

"The prodigal son returns," Tim snorted around a piece of toast, sparing him a glance before returning to his paper.

"Unfortunately," Damian muttered under his breath.

Alfred swatted him with a tea towel. "Don't be rude, Master Damian," the butler turned to Jason, "Now, would you like some breakfast? I happen to remember that you like Eggs Benedict, correct?"

"Um, yes," Jason stuttered out, grinning at the older man, "Thanks, Alfred."

He sat down hesitantly at the island. Tim, never one to beat around the bush, set down his toast, and turned to him. "So, are you joining the family? For good, now?"

Jason smiled, but it was strained, and pushed at the corners. He was never one for sentimentality, but he couldn't help remembering Tim grabbing his hand during Dick's age-reversal – not that he would admit to anyone, on pain of death – and he suddenly felt the need to make the next step, to tell the truth. "I'm willing to give it a try."

From his place in the corner, Dick stepped forward. Jason ran his eyes over him, and the older man seemed different, more subdued and focussed than usual. Dick looked Jason straight in the eyes, serious. "But you do know that you had _always_ been a part of the family, right?"

"You were just too idiotic to see it," Damian scoffed. Jason looked at the younger boy with surprise, but the boy refused to meet his eyes, nor pay him any attention. Jason saw the boy suddenly jerk, as if kicked, and he then ground out through clenched teeth, rhyming off as if rehearsed, "I apologize for my cruel words that may have hurt your feelings. I will try not to do so in the future."

Suspicious of the out-of-character admission, Jason raised his eyebrows questionably at Dick, who was now standing behind Damian, but he just smiled innocently – if satisfied.

Bruce interrupted them. "I'm going to go to the cave, Alfred. No breakfast for me, thanks."

"You don't have to," Jason said, and Bruce, along with the rest of his children, turned to look at him expectantly, almost surprised. He had opened his mouth before he had had a chance to think of what he was going to say, so he had no clue what to say next. The kid inside of him shrunk back at the overwhelming attention, but Jason stood firm. "I'm sure what's downstairs can wait."

Bruce eyed him for a moment, searching his face, before he smiled slightly. "Yes, I'm sure it can."

Nodding, Jason turned back to the island, and poured himself a glass of water, refusing to meet anyone's eyes as Bruce sat down with them. Maybe he didn't need as much space as he thought he did. He didn't need Bruce leaving alone – he had spent so much of his life solitary that the thought of going back to it voluntarily made his stomach roll.

Head lowered, he peered up beneath his bangs to look at Dick. He was startled to find him staring back, and he was grinning, wide and bright, with a gleam of pride in his eyes. Jason felt his cheeks burn, but he smiled back, because what else could he do when faced with the sun.

Maybe this family thing wouldn't be so hard after all.

* * *

 **A/N: and that's all folks! Leave a review if you enjoyed it, I'd really appreciate it :)**


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